Homily for Sunday, October 24th
Lessons:
2 Thessalonians 1:1-4, 11-12
Luke 19:1-10
The Dell Pond is a lovely oasis of peace in the midst of the racket of human endeavor on Grounds, as we say, at the University of Virginia. On Emmet Street, right next to the Curry School of Education and across from the Newcomb Hall parking garage, the little pond is passed daily by hordes of people on foot or in vehicles. For the last two years the construction of Bavaro Hall, the Curry School's new building, was going on just a stone's throw away from the pond, and now cranes and construction crews are at work on the garage across the street from it. Still, as I walk past it most days, the beautifully landscaped pond, with its water lilies and weeping willows, is the very image of tranquility and grace.
When I first began to work at my present job, a pair of domesticated ducks were permanent residents of the pond, and I monitored their activities as I walked to and from work. Watching them as they glided across the water or rested on the grass, I was touched by their dependence on each other, on the way they did everything side by side. I found myself feeling anxious for them if I didn't see them and delighted when they reappeared. Snapping turtles occasionally rise to the pond's surface, golden koi flash far beneath, and sometimes a great blue heron stands knee-deep at its edge, but the ducks have been a constant presence on the pond.
I have discovered that I am by no means the only one who feels an affectionate attachment to the Dell Pond ducks. On nice days parents with young children stop by to see and feed them, older adults relax on the bench overlooking the pond, and students snap photos of the ducks with their cell phones. One day I met one of my coworkers passing the pond, and I found out that Peter often brings the ducks cracked corn during the winter.
In the spring of '09, the white female duck disappeared and did not return. Her mate was clearly grieving, and I was devastated. There had been local news stories about a den of foxes that lived near the railroad tracks under Beta Bridge--a rabid fox had bitten someone--so I assumed a fox had killed the female duck. After a few weeks of watching the lonely duck grieve, Peter and his wife Ann called the SPCA to ask if they had any ducks who needed a home, and three new ducks came to live at Dell Pond. The original lone duck was immediately enfolded into the new flock. Last winter when deep snow covered the ground and the pond was frozen, I wondered how the ducks would manage, but they survived. Since then, another buff-colored female duck has disappeared, but the remaining three ducks are always together.
What have the ducks done for us? What do they represent? A community of caring has sprung up around these ducks, and although we don't all know one another, we share a common cause. When one of the female ducks was laying eggs on the grassy turf beside the pond, a student left a sign near the eggs, imploring the groundskeepers not to discard the eggs. My friend Peter brings them cracked corn, and children toss bread crumbs their way. I believe I am not the only person who verbally greets the ducks upon encountering them. Those three brave and vulnerable ducks are the unifying bond of a group of otherwise unconnected people.
Shared belief in Christ is the common cause that creates a community of worship and brings us all here to gather under this one roof. Though our lives, our politics, and our opinions on outside issues may vary greatly, our belief in the Lord Jesus Christ unites us. We expect to encounter the Risen Lord here in each other. As Henri Nouwen said, "God has given us the church as the place where God becomes God-with-us." In the ways that we worship together and love one another, we experience God. Community is essential for that purpose.
In today's epistle, Paul writes to the Thessalonians, "We must always give thanks to God for you, brothers and sisters, as is right, because your faith is growing abundantly, and the love of everyone of you for one another is increasing." Paul hails the church at Thessalonica as a model church because the people there lived in mutual love and support of one another. We are all called to be part of such a community, with our common cause the love of the Lord, and our expression of this love revealed in the way we treat each other and our neighbors.
Our gospel lesson for today, the story of Jesus's encounter with a tax collector named Zacchaeus, perfectly illustrates the inclusiveness of the Lord's community. You may remember the old Bible school song about Zacchaeus and what a "wee little man was he." It's a silly song, so I won't repeat it, especially since the song fails to convey one very important fact about Zacchaeus: though he may have been a man short in physical stature, Zacchaeus was not equally short in economic or social status. Zacchaeus was a chief tax collector and a very rich man. Why would such a powerful man press to get through the crowd to see a controversial itinerant preacher? Why would this tax collector, hated by his fellow Jews because of his position, risk making a fool of himself by climbing a tree to see Jesus? God has a way of placing such desires in our hearts; we love God because he first loved us. Zacchaeus must have felt his heart stirred by the words of Jesus, and his heart was rewarded when Jesus looked up in the sycamore tree and said, "Zacchaeus, hurry and come down, for I must stay at your house today."
Others in the crowd grumbled because Jesus chose to go to the house of someone they considered a sinner and a rogue. They could find no common ground with Zacchaeus, and they judged him for his obvious faults. But Zacchaeus, at the Lord's invitation, was more than willing to become a part of the community of believers, even though his self-righteous neighbors wished to exclude him. He promised the Lord to give half of all he had to the poor and to make reparation to those he had harmed. Jesus has the final word for anyone who thinks he or she is better behaved and more worthy of the kingdom than someone else: "Today salvation has come to this house, because he too is a son of Abraham. For the Son of Man came to seek out and save the lost."
I fear there are too many old stories and bad jokes about St. Peter standing at the pearly gates and barring the entrance to heaven. That kind of expectation has all of us casting judgment on ourselves and on each other, deciding who is good and who is bad, who will make it into the kingdom and who will not. Truly, judging is not and has never been our job, and we can give thanks for that. How grateful should we be for the wideness of God's mercy that forgives us seventy times seven!
As former Presiding Bishop of the Episcopal Church Edmond Browning wrote: "The church is a group of people united in gratitude to God for the redemption of the whole creation from the decay of sin and death, not an elaborate set of reasons why I am saved and you are not...What will we be asked when we stand before God? Were you right all the time? Do you qualify for membership? That is not my image of God's judgment. I think we will be asked if we loved God and tried to show it in the things we did." Bishop Browning is really speaking of the greatest and most simple commandment, the one the Lord told us was the only one we need to remember. "Love the Lord your God with your whole heart and love your neighbor as yourself."
Like the community of duck fanciers who pass by the Dell Pond, the church is a place where the common cause of love is the bond that unites us all. And like the ducks themselves, we are better off when we stick together.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
A Meditation on the Cross
Homily for Sunday, August 29th
5th Sunday at Graves Chapel
Lessons for Holy Cross Day
The history of the cross itself is a history of transfiguration. As that favorite hymn "The Old Rugged Cross" says, the cross is "the emblem of suffering and shame." Death on the cross was meant to be humiliating, torturously slow, and excruciatingly painful. Inflicted on humanity for a thousand years, crucifixion was used as a means of execution from the 6th century BC until the 4th century AD, when the Roman Emperor Constantine, the first Christian Emperor, finally ended its use.
During those many years between the crucifixion of Jesus and the end of the terrible practice, other Christians were martyred on a cross. Of the apostles, Peter and Andrew were both crucified. Peter told his executioners that he was unworthy to be killed in the same way as His Lord, so he was crucified upside down. Dying in the name of Christ for one's faith became an honored tradition.
Nowadays the cross is ubiquitous. You can see crosses just about anywhere: dangling from ears or hanging on a chain around someone's neck, advertising Christian bookstores or planted in a group of three by the roadside. I have several crosses that I proudly wear as jewelry, but that use is not what I meant when I said the cross has its own history of transfiguration.
Think of the crosses you've seen. There are the simple ones, like the plain old wooden cross hanging above the pulpit here in the chapel. And there are beautiful ones, like the lovely one inlaid in the center of the chapel floor by Tom Pastore. Catholic crucifixes come in various shapes and sizes, but they all have a figure of the crucified Christ attached to them. Altars in most churches are adorned with stately brass crosses. No matter their shape, size, or appearance, all Christian crosses commemorate the death and resurrection of our Lord Jesus Christ.
One of my favorite altar crosses is the one in the chapel at Richmond Hill. It is a brass cross, very similar to ours here. What makes it special to me is the way it is decorated. The engraving is not immediately obvious; only when the light in the chapel illumines it from a certain angle can you see the flowers that adorn the entire cross. I can't see it without thinking of Easter morning and of the flowering of the cross, of the joy of children as they bring spring flowers from their gardens to drape on a rustic wooden frame. The tradition of flowering the cross is for me the most profound illustration of Easter. From the humiliation, shame and agony of Good Friday, the cross is transfigured into a thing of hope, joy, and glorious beauty. Only Jesus himself could have wrought such a change.
As the collect for Holy Cross Day says, " our Savior Jesus Christ was lifted high upon the cross that he might draw the whole world to himself. Mercifully grant that we, who glory in the mystery of our redemption, may have grace to take up our cross and follow him." We all have a cross to bear, of one kind or another. Let us see the beauty of every cross we encounter as a reminder that our own pains, however awful they may be, can be transfigured by the grace of our Lord.
5th Sunday at Graves Chapel
Lessons for Holy Cross Day
The history of the cross itself is a history of transfiguration. As that favorite hymn "The Old Rugged Cross" says, the cross is "the emblem of suffering and shame." Death on the cross was meant to be humiliating, torturously slow, and excruciatingly painful. Inflicted on humanity for a thousand years, crucifixion was used as a means of execution from the 6th century BC until the 4th century AD, when the Roman Emperor Constantine, the first Christian Emperor, finally ended its use.
During those many years between the crucifixion of Jesus and the end of the terrible practice, other Christians were martyred on a cross. Of the apostles, Peter and Andrew were both crucified. Peter told his executioners that he was unworthy to be killed in the same way as His Lord, so he was crucified upside down. Dying in the name of Christ for one's faith became an honored tradition.
Nowadays the cross is ubiquitous. You can see crosses just about anywhere: dangling from ears or hanging on a chain around someone's neck, advertising Christian bookstores or planted in a group of three by the roadside. I have several crosses that I proudly wear as jewelry, but that use is not what I meant when I said the cross has its own history of transfiguration.
Think of the crosses you've seen. There are the simple ones, like the plain old wooden cross hanging above the pulpit here in the chapel. And there are beautiful ones, like the lovely one inlaid in the center of the chapel floor by Tom Pastore. Catholic crucifixes come in various shapes and sizes, but they all have a figure of the crucified Christ attached to them. Altars in most churches are adorned with stately brass crosses. No matter their shape, size, or appearance, all Christian crosses commemorate the death and resurrection of our Lord Jesus Christ.
One of my favorite altar crosses is the one in the chapel at Richmond Hill. It is a brass cross, very similar to ours here. What makes it special to me is the way it is decorated. The engraving is not immediately obvious; only when the light in the chapel illumines it from a certain angle can you see the flowers that adorn the entire cross. I can't see it without thinking of Easter morning and of the flowering of the cross, of the joy of children as they bring spring flowers from their gardens to drape on a rustic wooden frame. The tradition of flowering the cross is for me the most profound illustration of Easter. From the humiliation, shame and agony of Good Friday, the cross is transfigured into a thing of hope, joy, and glorious beauty. Only Jesus himself could have wrought such a change.
As the collect for Holy Cross Day says, " our Savior Jesus Christ was lifted high upon the cross that he might draw the whole world to himself. Mercifully grant that we, who glory in the mystery of our redemption, may have grace to take up our cross and follow him." We all have a cross to bear, of one kind or another. Let us see the beauty of every cross we encounter as a reminder that our own pains, however awful they may be, can be transfigured by the grace of our Lord.
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
What Is Prayer?
Homily for Sunday, July 25th, 2010
The Lessons:
Psalm 85
Hosea 1:2-10
Colossians 2:6-15
Luke 11:1-13
Prayer is a very personal thing. If you ask a roomful of Christians how they pray, you will probably get a roomful of different answers--or, maybe, a few bewildered shrugs. Some might say prayer is an intentional effort to reach out to God. The 11th Step of AA's 12 Steps says, in part, "We sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God..." When we try to make contact with God, we assume God will always be there to hear and answer us. Episcopal priest and writer Martin Smith describes prayer as our ongoing conversation with God, suggesting that God's end of the dialogue is always open to us.
Dame Julian of Norwich, 11th century mystic, envisioned God in this way: "Completely relaxed and courteous, he was himself the happiness and peace of his dear friends, his beautiful face, radiating measureless love, like a marvelous symphony; and it was that wonderful face, shining with the beauty of God, that filled that heavenly place with joy and light." Who wouldn't want to have a conversation with such a relaxed and courteous, friendly deity? I wonder why prayer is not easy for many of us.
Think back to childhood and your earliest experience of prayer. Was it your mother or your father who first taught you how to pray? Did you learn to kneel by your bed and say a prayer before you were tucked under the covers? That's the way my mother taught me to pray, and she knelt beside me. The prayer I learned was the one that goes like this: "Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep; if I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take." I bet a lot of us learned this same prayer as children, although to me it now seems like a grim and scary prayer to teach a child. [No wonder my childhood fear was that radioactive green slime hid under my bed!]
Of course, it is necessary to spend some time explaining prayer to children. I was dismayed when my then four-year old son asked why people were "reading their plates" during grace. I hadn't made it clear to him that prayer before meals is the way we express our gratitude to God for our blessings. It is said that gratitude makes us joyful, and since children abound in joy, they understand intuitively what it means to be blessed.
I still have a book of prayers for children that I was given as a small child, and I look forward to sharing the book with my grandchildren. Why is it that children take to prayer so easily once it is explained to them? The answer to that question is suggested by the Lord's injunction: "Unless you change and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven." Children accept God with a very uncomplicated and simple faith. As a small child, I didn't have any doubt that God was nearby and would hear my prayer. God seemed not unlike a loving grandparent.
In today's gospel lesson from Luke, the very grown-up disciples ask Jesus for an explanation of how he prays. He responds by teaching them to pray as a child might pray, with trust, simplicity, and candor.
First, he instructs them to speak in the most intimate of terms to God, to invoke God as "Abba," as Daddy, to experience the closeness of God but not to forget the holiness. The phrase "hallowed be thy name" suggests that a balance should be struck between the tenderness of love and the awe of reverence. God is approachable because we are his children, but God is God and he answers our prayers with power.
Next, Jesus tells the apostles to pray, "Your kingdom come." The task for the apostles, as it is for all of us who follow their path as disciples of Christ, is to do everything we can to bring the Lord's kingdom to the place and time we inhabit. How do we do that? When everything we do is motivated by love, God's kingdom will have arrived, because God is love. Even when it is hard to imagine the entire Earth exemplifying love and becoming the kingdom, surely we can work to make it happen in our own homes.
Next, we are to say, "Give us each day our daily bread." We acknowledge the source of all of our blessings, the source of our very lives. That humble acknowledgement is the wellspring of gratitude, the origin of child-like joy in God. The same God we encounter when we look up at a sky filled with stars on a cloudless night or gaze out to sea from a windswept shore is the God who provides us with our daily bread.
Luke's version of the next part of the Lord's prayer differs significantly from the more familiar version in Matthew. According to Luke, the Lord instructed the apostles to pray, "And forgive us our sins, for we ourselves forgive everyone indebted to us." Matthew uses the word trespass where Luke uses sin, and the Greek word for trespass is ophelema, meaning "that which is owed, or an offense requiring reparation." The Greek word for sin, as in Luke's version, is hamartia, which means "missing the mark," or not living up to the standard for moral behavior set by God. Matthew's "Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us" has sometimes led to debate about the meaning of forgiveness. Are we forgiven by God only to the extent to which we forgive others? When can we be sure our forgiveness is sufficient enough? When we forgive others, are we sincere, or do we forgive only on a kind of quid pro quo basis? Luke's version does away with this exchange system of forgiveness. Luke seems to say that the grace we experience when we are forgiven by God causes us to forgive others: "And forgive us our sins, for we ourselves forgive everyone indebted to us." Mercy and love come naturally to us when we know ourselves to be steeped in the mercy and love of God.
Today's psalm reminds me of a perfect example of Luke's (and the Lord's) meaning about forgiveness, mercy, and love. Psalm 85 is one of my favorites, and key verses from it are quoted in a wonderful film called Babette's Feast. (Some of you may have seen it and chances are you like it as much as I do. ) Babette is a French woman who arrives mysteriously in a small village on the coast of Norway. The year is 1871, and Babette brings a letter of introduction to a pair of spinster sisters. The letter is from an old friend of one of the sisters, who asks them to take in Babette, a political refugee, and suggests that she would be a good housekeeper for them. The sisters are poor, but they are kind souls, and they agree to have Babette live with them, though they will be unable to pay her much of anything. In fact, the sisters live a very austere life as they try to keep alive the Christian sect founded by their father, who had been a pastor in the village and is now long dead. A verse from Psalm 85 had been the credo of their father's faith, and it is posted on the wall of the sisters' house: "Mercy and truth have met together; righteousness and peace have kissed each other."
After fourteen years of living with the sisters and brightening their lives in simple ways, Babette learns that her lottery ticket has paid off. An old friend in Paris has been renewing it for her each year, and she gets a letter saying she has won 10,000 francs. When the sisters find out, they are glad for her, knowing she will now be able to return home to Paris, although they are also dismayed at the thought of her leaving. What will Babette decide to do?
Well, what she chooses to do is to bring the kingdom to the poor people of the fishing village, the spinster sisters and their friends. Out of her gratitude for the love and kindness the sisters showed her in giving her safe refuge, she more than amply repays her debt to them, as the Lord's prayer suggests. She spends every bit of the 10,000 francs to purchase all of the ingredients and delicacies she will need to prepare for her benefactors a magnificent French feast, intended as a dinner to celebrate the hundredth anniversary of the pastor, their father's, birth. You see, it turns out that Babette had been a most famous chef in Paris.
As the preparations for the meal become more and more elaborate, the sisters, who like all of their neighbors are accustomed to eating fish stew and gruel, are alarmed by the possibilities being presented to them. Among themselves, they resort to the last part of the Lord's prayer, "Do not bring us to the time of trial." Although they know she means well, the sisters fear Babette will tempt them and their guests to indulge sinful appetites. What happens as the evening of the feast arrives and they eat the meal Babette has prepared for them is pure grace. In spite of their fears, what they experience with every mouthful is the love and generosity behind Babette's effort to please them. They are filled with the fullness of God and know in their hearts that "Mercy and truth have met; righteousness and peace have kissed each other."
So it is when we accept the gifts God gives us in the spirit in which they are given. Mercy and love indeed come naturally to us when we know ourselves to be steeped in the mercy and love of God. As the second part of today's Gospel lesson tells us, we shouldn't expect anything less than Babette's feast when we pray to God for his blessings, and we pray with persistence: "Ask, and it will be given you; search, and you will find; knock, and the door will be opened. Is there anyone among you who, if your child asks for a fish, will give a snake instead of a fish? Or if the child asks for an egg, will give a scorpion? If you then...know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will the heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him!"
Pray like children, and pray with persistence. God will answer your prayers.
Amen.
The Lessons:
Psalm 85
Hosea 1:2-10
Colossians 2:6-15
Luke 11:1-13
Prayer is a very personal thing. If you ask a roomful of Christians how they pray, you will probably get a roomful of different answers--or, maybe, a few bewildered shrugs. Some might say prayer is an intentional effort to reach out to God. The 11th Step of AA's 12 Steps says, in part, "We sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God..." When we try to make contact with God, we assume God will always be there to hear and answer us. Episcopal priest and writer Martin Smith describes prayer as our ongoing conversation with God, suggesting that God's end of the dialogue is always open to us.
Dame Julian of Norwich, 11th century mystic, envisioned God in this way: "Completely relaxed and courteous, he was himself the happiness and peace of his dear friends, his beautiful face, radiating measureless love, like a marvelous symphony; and it was that wonderful face, shining with the beauty of God, that filled that heavenly place with joy and light." Who wouldn't want to have a conversation with such a relaxed and courteous, friendly deity? I wonder why prayer is not easy for many of us.
Think back to childhood and your earliest experience of prayer. Was it your mother or your father who first taught you how to pray? Did you learn to kneel by your bed and say a prayer before you were tucked under the covers? That's the way my mother taught me to pray, and she knelt beside me. The prayer I learned was the one that goes like this: "Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep; if I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take." I bet a lot of us learned this same prayer as children, although to me it now seems like a grim and scary prayer to teach a child. [No wonder my childhood fear was that radioactive green slime hid under my bed!]
Of course, it is necessary to spend some time explaining prayer to children. I was dismayed when my then four-year old son asked why people were "reading their plates" during grace. I hadn't made it clear to him that prayer before meals is the way we express our gratitude to God for our blessings. It is said that gratitude makes us joyful, and since children abound in joy, they understand intuitively what it means to be blessed.
I still have a book of prayers for children that I was given as a small child, and I look forward to sharing the book with my grandchildren. Why is it that children take to prayer so easily once it is explained to them? The answer to that question is suggested by the Lord's injunction: "Unless you change and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven." Children accept God with a very uncomplicated and simple faith. As a small child, I didn't have any doubt that God was nearby and would hear my prayer. God seemed not unlike a loving grandparent.
In today's gospel lesson from Luke, the very grown-up disciples ask Jesus for an explanation of how he prays. He responds by teaching them to pray as a child might pray, with trust, simplicity, and candor.
First, he instructs them to speak in the most intimate of terms to God, to invoke God as "Abba," as Daddy, to experience the closeness of God but not to forget the holiness. The phrase "hallowed be thy name" suggests that a balance should be struck between the tenderness of love and the awe of reverence. God is approachable because we are his children, but God is God and he answers our prayers with power.
Next, Jesus tells the apostles to pray, "Your kingdom come." The task for the apostles, as it is for all of us who follow their path as disciples of Christ, is to do everything we can to bring the Lord's kingdom to the place and time we inhabit. How do we do that? When everything we do is motivated by love, God's kingdom will have arrived, because God is love. Even when it is hard to imagine the entire Earth exemplifying love and becoming the kingdom, surely we can work to make it happen in our own homes.
Next, we are to say, "Give us each day our daily bread." We acknowledge the source of all of our blessings, the source of our very lives. That humble acknowledgement is the wellspring of gratitude, the origin of child-like joy in God. The same God we encounter when we look up at a sky filled with stars on a cloudless night or gaze out to sea from a windswept shore is the God who provides us with our daily bread.
Luke's version of the next part of the Lord's prayer differs significantly from the more familiar version in Matthew. According to Luke, the Lord instructed the apostles to pray, "And forgive us our sins, for we ourselves forgive everyone indebted to us." Matthew uses the word trespass where Luke uses sin, and the Greek word for trespass is ophelema, meaning "that which is owed, or an offense requiring reparation." The Greek word for sin, as in Luke's version, is hamartia, which means "missing the mark," or not living up to the standard for moral behavior set by God. Matthew's "Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us" has sometimes led to debate about the meaning of forgiveness. Are we forgiven by God only to the extent to which we forgive others? When can we be sure our forgiveness is sufficient enough? When we forgive others, are we sincere, or do we forgive only on a kind of quid pro quo basis? Luke's version does away with this exchange system of forgiveness. Luke seems to say that the grace we experience when we are forgiven by God causes us to forgive others: "And forgive us our sins, for we ourselves forgive everyone indebted to us." Mercy and love come naturally to us when we know ourselves to be steeped in the mercy and love of God.
Today's psalm reminds me of a perfect example of Luke's (and the Lord's) meaning about forgiveness, mercy, and love. Psalm 85 is one of my favorites, and key verses from it are quoted in a wonderful film called Babette's Feast. (Some of you may have seen it and chances are you like it as much as I do. ) Babette is a French woman who arrives mysteriously in a small village on the coast of Norway. The year is 1871, and Babette brings a letter of introduction to a pair of spinster sisters. The letter is from an old friend of one of the sisters, who asks them to take in Babette, a political refugee, and suggests that she would be a good housekeeper for them. The sisters are poor, but they are kind souls, and they agree to have Babette live with them, though they will be unable to pay her much of anything. In fact, the sisters live a very austere life as they try to keep alive the Christian sect founded by their father, who had been a pastor in the village and is now long dead. A verse from Psalm 85 had been the credo of their father's faith, and it is posted on the wall of the sisters' house: "Mercy and truth have met together; righteousness and peace have kissed each other."
After fourteen years of living with the sisters and brightening their lives in simple ways, Babette learns that her lottery ticket has paid off. An old friend in Paris has been renewing it for her each year, and she gets a letter saying she has won 10,000 francs. When the sisters find out, they are glad for her, knowing she will now be able to return home to Paris, although they are also dismayed at the thought of her leaving. What will Babette decide to do?
Well, what she chooses to do is to bring the kingdom to the poor people of the fishing village, the spinster sisters and their friends. Out of her gratitude for the love and kindness the sisters showed her in giving her safe refuge, she more than amply repays her debt to them, as the Lord's prayer suggests. She spends every bit of the 10,000 francs to purchase all of the ingredients and delicacies she will need to prepare for her benefactors a magnificent French feast, intended as a dinner to celebrate the hundredth anniversary of the pastor, their father's, birth. You see, it turns out that Babette had been a most famous chef in Paris.
As the preparations for the meal become more and more elaborate, the sisters, who like all of their neighbors are accustomed to eating fish stew and gruel, are alarmed by the possibilities being presented to them. Among themselves, they resort to the last part of the Lord's prayer, "Do not bring us to the time of trial." Although they know she means well, the sisters fear Babette will tempt them and their guests to indulge sinful appetites. What happens as the evening of the feast arrives and they eat the meal Babette has prepared for them is pure grace. In spite of their fears, what they experience with every mouthful is the love and generosity behind Babette's effort to please them. They are filled with the fullness of God and know in their hearts that "Mercy and truth have met; righteousness and peace have kissed each other."
So it is when we accept the gifts God gives us in the spirit in which they are given. Mercy and love indeed come naturally to us when we know ourselves to be steeped in the mercy and love of God. As the second part of today's Gospel lesson tells us, we shouldn't expect anything less than Babette's feast when we pray to God for his blessings, and we pray with persistence: "Ask, and it will be given you; search, and you will find; knock, and the door will be opened. Is there anyone among you who, if your child asks for a fish, will give a snake instead of a fish? Or if the child asks for an egg, will give a scorpion? If you then...know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will the heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him!"
Pray like children, and pray with persistence. God will answer your prayers.
Amen.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
In the Whirlwind
Homily for Sunday, June 27th, 2010
Lessons:
2 Kings 2: 1-2, 6-14
Psalm 77: 1-2, 11-20
Galatians 5:1, 13-25
Luke 9: 51-62
Our expression "passing the mantle" is derived from today's Old Testament lesson, and the story is full of drama. Elijah, the old prophet, is ready to retire, and he knows God has prepared a place for him in that great retirement home in the sky. When he attempts to leave his understudy Elisha behind, Elisha insists on going with him, saying, "As the Lord lives, and as you yourself live, I will not leave you." As the two travel along, other "men of the company of prophets" join them, so that ultimately there are fifty spectators there to witness the change of command.
When Elijah arrives at the banks of the Jordan River, he takes the mantle from his shoulders and strikes the river with it, causing the waters to part for the two men and dry land to appear under their feet. If the fifty men from the company of prophets had harbored any doubts that Elijah was the greatest seer of their generation, this display of the waters parting must have convinced them that Elijah came directly from the line of Moses. What happens next sounds like pure Hollywood, like something from The Raiders of the Lost Ark. On the far side of the river Jordan, a chariot of fire drawn by flaming horses descends from the sky and sweeps Elijah to heaven in a whirlwind. Overcome by the power and the splendor, Elisha exclaims, "Father, Father! The chariot of Israel and its horsemen!" Then he takes up the mantle that had fallen from Elijah and, striking the waters, parts the Jordan and crosses to where the fifty prophets await him. Dazzled, they greet him with the cry, "The spirit of Elijah rests on Elisha!" Thus passes the mantle of power from one generation to the next.
Whirlwinds and waters parting and chariots of fire may seem fanciful and distant from our own experiences, but creation has a way of reminding us of its innate power from time to time. On Thursday afternoon at 4:30, I left my office in the School of Engineering at UVA and began walking to my car, parked about a mile away. It was 100 degrees outside when I set out, and the air felt like a heated oven. I was heading north, and to the north and west of the city, there was the blackest cloud I've ever seen. A huge streak of lightning touched straight down to the ground, and small drops of moisture, not quite rain, began to pelt my face. Just as I got into my car and slammed the door, the clouds opened and rain poured down in waves. I pulled from the parking lot, noticing the way the wind was whipping the trees, and took my usual back roads shortcut past the Darden School and down to Millmont Street, behind Barracks Road Shopping center. As I turned onto Millmont, the wind was so powerful that branches of trees were blowing across my path, and I realized it was very foolish for me to keep driving, so I pulled over, behind a building and away from the flying debris. The wind was so strong, I could feel my car rocking. Just behind me on Millmont a giant tree had been toppled and lay across the street, completely blocking it.
When the rain let up enough so I could see to drive, I made my way to Barracks Road, where I turned left to head for Georgetown Road and my home in Earlysville. The power was out and no streetlights were working. Small branches, leaves, and other debris lay in the streets. A tree in the median was split in half with its broken wing dangling. The cars around me moved along with caution but no lack of determination. Just west of the intersection of Barracks Road with Georgetown, a tree lay across Barracks Road. I turned onto Georgetown, where I saw a young Hispanic man tugging at a huge branch not quite severed from a tree, trying to tear it down and get it out of the way of oncoming traffic. As I passed him, I called to him to be careful. Ahead of me the traffic was stopped and as I sat and waited, the cars ahead of me turned around and came back, one by one, so I joined that procession. Later I found out that there were multiple trees and power lines down across Georgetown Road. In fact, the road was still closed to traffic the next morning. I made my way home on Rte. 29 to Earlysville, grateful the micro-burst (a kind of mini-tornado) had not extended to Earlysville.
Physicists tell us that everything in the universe is made of matter and energy. We ourselves can be broken down into atoms, our essential matter, and energy. Jesuit priest, philosopher and scientist Pierre Teilhard de Chardin said that energy is the spirit of God. The microburst I experienced demonstrates the power of energy when meteorological forces collide. Such forces are neither good or bad; they simply exist as part of God's creation beyond the comprehension of most of us. They inspire the kind of awe Elisha experienced at the sight of the fiery chariot in the whirlwind. As the psalmist says,
You are the God who works wonders *
and have declared your power among the peoples.
By your strength you have redeemed your people, *
the children of Jacob and Joseph.
The waters saw you, O God;
the waters saw you and trembled; *
the very depths were shaken.
The clouds poured out water;
the skies thundered; *
your arrows flashed to and fro;
The sound of your thunder was in the whirlwind; *
your lightnings lit up the world; *
the earth trembled and shook.
Fifteen years ago today, meteorological forces collided in such a way that 23 inches of rain fell in 24 hours over this beautiful valley and Graves Mill nearly washed completely away. Of the many buildings that constituted what we called downtown Graves Mill, only the old mill, the schoolhouse, and this chapel survived the flood. Houses, barns and other out-buildings in the larger community were washed away, and the devastation made the valley look like a bomb had been dropped on it. Many bridges in Madison County were washed away, and the road to Graves Mill was impassable. In the first days after the flood, when folks here were trying to clean up and put their lives back together, it was difficult to believe that this place and its people could ever recover from the thousand-year catastrophe.
If we allowed ourselves to sink into despair, it was because we were forgetting the other kind of power God exerts: the power of "love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, and gentleness." People came from near and distant places to help with the clean-up and the earth began to heal itself. By the following spring, the pastures were green again. Today, someone who has never been in this valley would not be able to guess how much destruction was wrought here only fifteen years ago. The forces of nature can indeed be awesome in their destructive power, but they are also awesome in their gentle, persistent healing grace.
Teilhard de Chardin composed this prayer, which he called a "Hymn to Matter," and I think it is well-suited to this anniversary:
"I bless you, matter, and you I acclaim; not as the pontiffs of science or the moralizing preachers depict you, debased, disfigured--a mass of brute forces and base appetites--but as you reveal yourself to me today, in your totality and your true nature...
You who batter us and then dress our wounds, you who resist us and yield to us, you who wreck and build, you who shackle and liberate, the sap of our souls, the hand of God, the flesh of Christ; it is you, matter, that I bless.
I acclaim you as the divine milieu, charged with creative power, as the ocean stirred by the Spirit, as the clay molded and infused with the life by the incarnate Word...
Raise me up then, matter, to those heights, through struggle and separation, and death; raise me up until, at long last, it becomes possible for me in perfect chastity to embrace the universe."
AMEN.
Lessons:
2 Kings 2: 1-2, 6-14
Psalm 77: 1-2, 11-20
Galatians 5:1, 13-25
Luke 9: 51-62
Our expression "passing the mantle" is derived from today's Old Testament lesson, and the story is full of drama. Elijah, the old prophet, is ready to retire, and he knows God has prepared a place for him in that great retirement home in the sky. When he attempts to leave his understudy Elisha behind, Elisha insists on going with him, saying, "As the Lord lives, and as you yourself live, I will not leave you." As the two travel along, other "men of the company of prophets" join them, so that ultimately there are fifty spectators there to witness the change of command.
When Elijah arrives at the banks of the Jordan River, he takes the mantle from his shoulders and strikes the river with it, causing the waters to part for the two men and dry land to appear under their feet. If the fifty men from the company of prophets had harbored any doubts that Elijah was the greatest seer of their generation, this display of the waters parting must have convinced them that Elijah came directly from the line of Moses. What happens next sounds like pure Hollywood, like something from The Raiders of the Lost Ark. On the far side of the river Jordan, a chariot of fire drawn by flaming horses descends from the sky and sweeps Elijah to heaven in a whirlwind. Overcome by the power and the splendor, Elisha exclaims, "Father, Father! The chariot of Israel and its horsemen!" Then he takes up the mantle that had fallen from Elijah and, striking the waters, parts the Jordan and crosses to where the fifty prophets await him. Dazzled, they greet him with the cry, "The spirit of Elijah rests on Elisha!" Thus passes the mantle of power from one generation to the next.
Whirlwinds and waters parting and chariots of fire may seem fanciful and distant from our own experiences, but creation has a way of reminding us of its innate power from time to time. On Thursday afternoon at 4:30, I left my office in the School of Engineering at UVA and began walking to my car, parked about a mile away. It was 100 degrees outside when I set out, and the air felt like a heated oven. I was heading north, and to the north and west of the city, there was the blackest cloud I've ever seen. A huge streak of lightning touched straight down to the ground, and small drops of moisture, not quite rain, began to pelt my face. Just as I got into my car and slammed the door, the clouds opened and rain poured down in waves. I pulled from the parking lot, noticing the way the wind was whipping the trees, and took my usual back roads shortcut past the Darden School and down to Millmont Street, behind Barracks Road Shopping center. As I turned onto Millmont, the wind was so powerful that branches of trees were blowing across my path, and I realized it was very foolish for me to keep driving, so I pulled over, behind a building and away from the flying debris. The wind was so strong, I could feel my car rocking. Just behind me on Millmont a giant tree had been toppled and lay across the street, completely blocking it.
When the rain let up enough so I could see to drive, I made my way to Barracks Road, where I turned left to head for Georgetown Road and my home in Earlysville. The power was out and no streetlights were working. Small branches, leaves, and other debris lay in the streets. A tree in the median was split in half with its broken wing dangling. The cars around me moved along with caution but no lack of determination. Just west of the intersection of Barracks Road with Georgetown, a tree lay across Barracks Road. I turned onto Georgetown, where I saw a young Hispanic man tugging at a huge branch not quite severed from a tree, trying to tear it down and get it out of the way of oncoming traffic. As I passed him, I called to him to be careful. Ahead of me the traffic was stopped and as I sat and waited, the cars ahead of me turned around and came back, one by one, so I joined that procession. Later I found out that there were multiple trees and power lines down across Georgetown Road. In fact, the road was still closed to traffic the next morning. I made my way home on Rte. 29 to Earlysville, grateful the micro-burst (a kind of mini-tornado) had not extended to Earlysville.
Physicists tell us that everything in the universe is made of matter and energy. We ourselves can be broken down into atoms, our essential matter, and energy. Jesuit priest, philosopher and scientist Pierre Teilhard de Chardin said that energy is the spirit of God. The microburst I experienced demonstrates the power of energy when meteorological forces collide. Such forces are neither good or bad; they simply exist as part of God's creation beyond the comprehension of most of us. They inspire the kind of awe Elisha experienced at the sight of the fiery chariot in the whirlwind. As the psalmist says,
You are the God who works wonders *
and have declared your power among the peoples.
By your strength you have redeemed your people, *
the children of Jacob and Joseph.
The waters saw you, O God;
the waters saw you and trembled; *
the very depths were shaken.
The clouds poured out water;
the skies thundered; *
your arrows flashed to and fro;
The sound of your thunder was in the whirlwind; *
your lightnings lit up the world; *
the earth trembled and shook.
Fifteen years ago today, meteorological forces collided in such a way that 23 inches of rain fell in 24 hours over this beautiful valley and Graves Mill nearly washed completely away. Of the many buildings that constituted what we called downtown Graves Mill, only the old mill, the schoolhouse, and this chapel survived the flood. Houses, barns and other out-buildings in the larger community were washed away, and the devastation made the valley look like a bomb had been dropped on it. Many bridges in Madison County were washed away, and the road to Graves Mill was impassable. In the first days after the flood, when folks here were trying to clean up and put their lives back together, it was difficult to believe that this place and its people could ever recover from the thousand-year catastrophe.
If we allowed ourselves to sink into despair, it was because we were forgetting the other kind of power God exerts: the power of "love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, and gentleness." People came from near and distant places to help with the clean-up and the earth began to heal itself. By the following spring, the pastures were green again. Today, someone who has never been in this valley would not be able to guess how much destruction was wrought here only fifteen years ago. The forces of nature can indeed be awesome in their destructive power, but they are also awesome in their gentle, persistent healing grace.
Teilhard de Chardin composed this prayer, which he called a "Hymn to Matter," and I think it is well-suited to this anniversary:
"I bless you, matter, and you I acclaim; not as the pontiffs of science or the moralizing preachers depict you, debased, disfigured--a mass of brute forces and base appetites--but as you reveal yourself to me today, in your totality and your true nature...
You who batter us and then dress our wounds, you who resist us and yield to us, you who wreck and build, you who shackle and liberate, the sap of our souls, the hand of God, the flesh of Christ; it is you, matter, that I bless.
I acclaim you as the divine milieu, charged with creative power, as the ocean stirred by the Spirit, as the clay molded and infused with the life by the incarnate Word...
Raise me up then, matter, to those heights, through struggle and separation, and death; raise me up until, at long last, it becomes possible for me in perfect chastity to embrace the universe."
AMEN.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
The Advocate and the Trinity
Homily for Trinity Sunday
May 30, 2010
Proverbs 8: 1-4, 22-31
Today is Trinity Sunday. Last Sunday, Pentecost, Christians were re-introduced to the Holy Spirit as an Advocate--our personal intercessor and intermediary with God. In the Old Testament, the prophets wrote about the spirit as a "still, small voice" within us. In today's beautiful lesson from Proverbs, the Spirit is presented with a feminine voice and is called Wisdom. She says she was with God from the beginning, working at his side, and God took delight in her. Wisdom tells us she stands by the gates of our hearts, calling to us.
As Christ took his leave from the disciples, he reinforced the importance of the Holy Spirit. He tells them that they need not worry about losing him because he will always abide with them in the Spirit. Just as He lives in God and God lives in Him, so the Holy Spirit will live in each faithful believer, connecting us directly to the Son and the Father. This spirit is Love and desires only what is best for us. Jesus calls the Spirit our Advocate. You may also call her Wisdom.
Last Sunday we celebrated the descending of the Spirit on the disciples. As the Spirit entered them, they truly became instruments of God, calling out to all people around them in their own languages and offering hope of salvation and eternal life. Filled with the Spirit, the disciples sought to break down the barriers of human fear. Like Wisdom standing at the gates, they opened our hearts to the fullness of God's love. In so doing, they laid the foundation for the Church.
God is a great mystery, and the Trinity is for most of us a difficult concept to grasp, but it is the fundamental principle of the Christian faith. Our creeds, the statements of our belief, outline the Trinity. We say we believe in God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit. Last Sunday, the Holy Spirit got a big send-off. Today we are reminded that the Spirit is one part of the Trinity, and all three parts are essential.
Endeavoring to explain the Trinity, a child said that it was like his mother and the various roles she fills. She was mother to him, wife to his father, daughter to her own parents. This is an appealing explanation, but I think our expression "God in three persons" somewhat misses the mark. Although our experience of God is personal, God cannot be contained by the limitations of what we think of as personhood. True, God took on human form and came to live among us as a simple carpenter's son. We believe God did that to demonstrate his love for us, his saving compassion. But remember, Christ's last important work was to leave the Advocate, the Holy Spirit, in his place. You could argue that was the most important thing he accomplished.
Without the Spirit living within us, we would not be moved to love or believe in God. Lacking the Spirit, we would not be moved to accept the grace and salvation God offers us. Thanks to the Advocate, we receive the blessings of God the Creator and the prophetic understanding of God the Son. It is only through the Spirit and the work of that Spirit within our souls that we are transformed into Children of God.
May 30, 2010
Proverbs 8: 1-4, 22-31
Today is Trinity Sunday. Last Sunday, Pentecost, Christians were re-introduced to the Holy Spirit as an Advocate--our personal intercessor and intermediary with God. In the Old Testament, the prophets wrote about the spirit as a "still, small voice" within us. In today's beautiful lesson from Proverbs, the Spirit is presented with a feminine voice and is called Wisdom. She says she was with God from the beginning, working at his side, and God took delight in her. Wisdom tells us she stands by the gates of our hearts, calling to us.
As Christ took his leave from the disciples, he reinforced the importance of the Holy Spirit. He tells them that they need not worry about losing him because he will always abide with them in the Spirit. Just as He lives in God and God lives in Him, so the Holy Spirit will live in each faithful believer, connecting us directly to the Son and the Father. This spirit is Love and desires only what is best for us. Jesus calls the Spirit our Advocate. You may also call her Wisdom.
Last Sunday we celebrated the descending of the Spirit on the disciples. As the Spirit entered them, they truly became instruments of God, calling out to all people around them in their own languages and offering hope of salvation and eternal life. Filled with the Spirit, the disciples sought to break down the barriers of human fear. Like Wisdom standing at the gates, they opened our hearts to the fullness of God's love. In so doing, they laid the foundation for the Church.
God is a great mystery, and the Trinity is for most of us a difficult concept to grasp, but it is the fundamental principle of the Christian faith. Our creeds, the statements of our belief, outline the Trinity. We say we believe in God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit. Last Sunday, the Holy Spirit got a big send-off. Today we are reminded that the Spirit is one part of the Trinity, and all three parts are essential.
Endeavoring to explain the Trinity, a child said that it was like his mother and the various roles she fills. She was mother to him, wife to his father, daughter to her own parents. This is an appealing explanation, but I think our expression "God in three persons" somewhat misses the mark. Although our experience of God is personal, God cannot be contained by the limitations of what we think of as personhood. True, God took on human form and came to live among us as a simple carpenter's son. We believe God did that to demonstrate his love for us, his saving compassion. But remember, Christ's last important work was to leave the Advocate, the Holy Spirit, in his place. You could argue that was the most important thing he accomplished.
Without the Spirit living within us, we would not be moved to love or believe in God. Lacking the Spirit, we would not be moved to accept the grace and salvation God offers us. Thanks to the Advocate, we receive the blessings of God the Creator and the prophetic understanding of God the Son. It is only through the Spirit and the work of that Spirit within our souls that we are transformed into Children of God.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
The Promise of the Good Shepherd
Homily for Sunday, April 25, 2010
Lessons:
Psalm 23
Acts 9:36-43
Revelations 7:9-17
John 10: 22-30
Last Monday, a graduate student on a bicycle was killed when a large Charlottesville public works truck turned right onto 4th Street. The bicyclist must have been in the driver’s blind spot. Maybe he didn’t see the truck’s turn signal. Or there wasn’t one. Maybe he tried to beat the truck, thinking he could cross the street before the truck could turn. We will never know.
These are a few of the things we have found out since the young man died. His name was Matt King, and he was a student in the math department. His professor said of him, “He was a bright student with a very positive personality.” In fact, Matt was the kind of outstanding math student who might have had offers at other prestigious universities, but he chose the University of Virginia. Why? Because a pastor he had become close to as an undergraduate had moved to Charlottesville. Matt came to UVA so he could help with his former pastor’s ministry.
Last Monday morning, he was serving breakfast at a downtown homeless shelter called The Haven. Maybe he was in a hurry to get to class when he left there. Maybe he was listening to music on his iPod and couldn't hear the truck. We will never know.
We have learned that Matt King was from South Carolina and attended Clemson University as an undergraduate. He and his younger brother were very close; in fact, the day Matt died was his younger brother's 20th birthday. For the rest of his life, this young man's birthday, which should be a happy day, will always be associated with the death of his beloved brother.
The tragedy of Matt King's death has been on the minds of many of us at UVA this week. The story begs the question "Why?" Why did a young man so devoted to serving the Lord by serving others have to lose his life? How could the Lord let such a thing happen? When I realized this Sunday is Good Shepherd Sunday and includes the 23rd Psalm, I hoped to find words of comfort in today's lessons. Comfort is there, of course.
In the Gospel lesson from John, Jesus is confronted by the Jewish authorities, who want him to state outright if he is the Messiah. We can guess what their motive might have been, and their question is no doubt a trap. Jesus answers simply: "The works that I do in my Father's name testify to me; but you do not believe, because you do not belong to my sheep. My sheep hear my voice. I know them, and they follow me. I give them eternal life, and they will never perish. No one will snatch them out of my hand. What my Father has given me is greater than all else, and no one can snatch it out of the Father's hand. The Father and I are one."
We cannot be snatched from God's hand. Our baptism promises us that we are God's own forever; that is the only promise we are given in scripture, but it is the only one we need. There can be no guarantee about not dying to this mortal life; our earthly bodies will die and we have no way of knowing the hour or the day. But Jesus says we who believe in him are his sheep, and he will gather us into eternal life with Him and the Father. Our celebration of the Resurrection in this season of Easter reminds us that Christ has died and risen to give us a life in the spirit that cannot perish.
The free will all humans enjoy allows us to choose to follow the shepherd. But human free will also permits a host of other things, everything from inattention to traffic laws to environmental degradation. We humans complicate our lives and the workings of the world in so many ways. Although the Lord does not contravene the exercise of free will, and we often suffer as a result, miracles can happen. In today's story from Acts, we see Peter raise from the dead a disciple named Dorcas. Whatever we do in the Lord's name has great power, even though we often cannot comprehend it.
The Book of Revelation can be inscrutable, and I usually feel some trepidation when I turn to its pages, but the passage for today is my favorite from the whole book, for a personal reason. I have struggled with my own mother's death. Why did someone who was so obviously a good and devoted Christian have to die at a relatively young age after suffering through a terrible illness? When the speaker in Revelation 7 is asked the question about the spirits clothed in white robes and standing near the throne of the Lamb, he answers, "These are they who have come out of the great ordeal; they have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb." I can picture my mother in that company, blessed and comforted after her long ordeal, full of joy. How wonderful to know there is heavenly compensation for the suffering we humans endure in this life! So much of life is unfair, but there is justice in God's mercy.
The most beloved psalm of all is Psalm 23, and I think that's because it gets straight to the point in stating all of the things the Lord does for us. Our service leaflet has the modern version of it, but I think most of us know best the King James version, found at #506 in the responsive reading section of the Broadman Hymnal. Let's read it together now:
Psalm 23
1The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want.
2He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters.
3He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.
4Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.
5Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.
6Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the LORD for ever.
In verse 4, the dangers and difficulties we encounter are acknowledged. Life can be like a dark valley, and death is ever present. But we are reminded that we have no need to fear evil of any kind. We will be guided and protected in this life, and embraced in the bosom of the Lord in the next one.
This grace is true for each of us, just as it is true for young Matthew King. The website for the college ministry he was associated with has posted this quotation from Matt. In explaining his beliefs, Matt said: "Restoration and redemption surround me."
Blessed assurance! Amen
Lessons:
Psalm 23
Acts 9:36-43
Revelations 7:9-17
John 10: 22-30
Last Monday, a graduate student on a bicycle was killed when a large Charlottesville public works truck turned right onto 4th Street. The bicyclist must have been in the driver’s blind spot. Maybe he didn’t see the truck’s turn signal. Or there wasn’t one. Maybe he tried to beat the truck, thinking he could cross the street before the truck could turn. We will never know.
These are a few of the things we have found out since the young man died. His name was Matt King, and he was a student in the math department. His professor said of him, “He was a bright student with a very positive personality.” In fact, Matt was the kind of outstanding math student who might have had offers at other prestigious universities, but he chose the University of Virginia. Why? Because a pastor he had become close to as an undergraduate had moved to Charlottesville. Matt came to UVA so he could help with his former pastor’s ministry.
Last Monday morning, he was serving breakfast at a downtown homeless shelter called The Haven. Maybe he was in a hurry to get to class when he left there. Maybe he was listening to music on his iPod and couldn't hear the truck. We will never know.
We have learned that Matt King was from South Carolina and attended Clemson University as an undergraduate. He and his younger brother were very close; in fact, the day Matt died was his younger brother's 20th birthday. For the rest of his life, this young man's birthday, which should be a happy day, will always be associated with the death of his beloved brother.
The tragedy of Matt King's death has been on the minds of many of us at UVA this week. The story begs the question "Why?" Why did a young man so devoted to serving the Lord by serving others have to lose his life? How could the Lord let such a thing happen? When I realized this Sunday is Good Shepherd Sunday and includes the 23rd Psalm, I hoped to find words of comfort in today's lessons. Comfort is there, of course.
In the Gospel lesson from John, Jesus is confronted by the Jewish authorities, who want him to state outright if he is the Messiah. We can guess what their motive might have been, and their question is no doubt a trap. Jesus answers simply: "The works that I do in my Father's name testify to me; but you do not believe, because you do not belong to my sheep. My sheep hear my voice. I know them, and they follow me. I give them eternal life, and they will never perish. No one will snatch them out of my hand. What my Father has given me is greater than all else, and no one can snatch it out of the Father's hand. The Father and I are one."
We cannot be snatched from God's hand. Our baptism promises us that we are God's own forever; that is the only promise we are given in scripture, but it is the only one we need. There can be no guarantee about not dying to this mortal life; our earthly bodies will die and we have no way of knowing the hour or the day. But Jesus says we who believe in him are his sheep, and he will gather us into eternal life with Him and the Father. Our celebration of the Resurrection in this season of Easter reminds us that Christ has died and risen to give us a life in the spirit that cannot perish.
The free will all humans enjoy allows us to choose to follow the shepherd. But human free will also permits a host of other things, everything from inattention to traffic laws to environmental degradation. We humans complicate our lives and the workings of the world in so many ways. Although the Lord does not contravene the exercise of free will, and we often suffer as a result, miracles can happen. In today's story from Acts, we see Peter raise from the dead a disciple named Dorcas. Whatever we do in the Lord's name has great power, even though we often cannot comprehend it.
The Book of Revelation can be inscrutable, and I usually feel some trepidation when I turn to its pages, but the passage for today is my favorite from the whole book, for a personal reason. I have struggled with my own mother's death. Why did someone who was so obviously a good and devoted Christian have to die at a relatively young age after suffering through a terrible illness? When the speaker in Revelation 7 is asked the question about the spirits clothed in white robes and standing near the throne of the Lamb, he answers, "These are they who have come out of the great ordeal; they have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb." I can picture my mother in that company, blessed and comforted after her long ordeal, full of joy. How wonderful to know there is heavenly compensation for the suffering we humans endure in this life! So much of life is unfair, but there is justice in God's mercy.
The most beloved psalm of all is Psalm 23, and I think that's because it gets straight to the point in stating all of the things the Lord does for us. Our service leaflet has the modern version of it, but I think most of us know best the King James version, found at #506 in the responsive reading section of the Broadman Hymnal. Let's read it together now:
Psalm 23
1The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want.
2He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters.
3He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.
4Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.
5Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.
6Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the LORD for ever.
In verse 4, the dangers and difficulties we encounter are acknowledged. Life can be like a dark valley, and death is ever present. But we are reminded that we have no need to fear evil of any kind. We will be guided and protected in this life, and embraced in the bosom of the Lord in the next one.
This grace is true for each of us, just as it is true for young Matthew King. The website for the college ministry he was associated with has posted this quotation from Matt. In explaining his beliefs, Matt said: "Restoration and redemption surround me."
Blessed assurance! Amen
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Journey With the Prodigal
Homily for Palm Sunday March 28, 2010
In the story of Christ's passion, and in our procession with palms in hand, we walk with Christ as he enters Jerusalem for the last time. We worship a Lord who is fully human, in his birth, in his youth as the son of a simple carpenter, and in the difficulties and trials of his life, which led him finally to the Cross. He is a human man, entering the city on the back of a borrowed donkey colt, but the people who have heard of him recognize his divinity. Spreading branches and even garments on the road before him, they praise him as they would a king. The disciples shout, "Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord." Our Lord is fully human and fully divine.
As I've reflected on Christ during the days of Lent, my thoughts kept turning to the Parable of the Prodigal Son. It came to me that the three figures in the parable, the forgiving father and his two sons, might be seen to represent the three figures in the Holy Trinity, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. I know this may sound like a stretch, but think of it this way. Jesus often obviously included himself as a character in the parables he told. Certainly he is the good shepherd who leaves the 99 sheep behind in order to search for the missing one. In the parable of the wayward tenants, he is clearly the landlord's son, sent by his father after the servants have failed to reason with the ruthless tenants, who kill him. It may even be possible to see the Lord as the battered victim left to die by the roadside in the parable of the Good Samaritan. In all of these stories, we can see Jesus presenting his own story to his followers. Why not in the story of the Prodigal Son? I find the idea deeply moving that Jesus would prefigure the circumstances of his death and resurrection in this story.
In case you have forgotten the details, let me read it for you again:
"There was a man who had two sons. 12The younger one said to his father, 'Father, give me my share of the estate.' So he divided his property between them.
13"Not long after that, the younger son got together all he had, set off for a distant country and there squandered his wealth in wild living. 14After he had spent everything, there was a severe famine in that whole country, and he began to be in need. 15So he went and hired himself out to a citizen of that country, who sent him to his fields to feed pigs. 16He longed to fill his stomach with the pods that the pigs were eating, but no one gave him anything.
17"When he came to his senses, he said, 'How many of my father's hired men have food to spare, and here I am starving to death! 18I will set out and go back to my father and say to him: Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. 19I am no longer worthy to be called your son; make me like one of your hired men.'
20So he got up and went to his father.
"But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion for him; he ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed him.
21"The son said to him, 'Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son.[a]'
22"But the father said to his servants, 'Quick! Bring the best robe and put it on him. Put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. 23Bring the fattened calf and kill it. Let's have a feast and celebrate. 24For this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.' So they began to celebrate.
25"Meanwhile, the older son was in the field. When he came near the house, he heard music and dancing. 26So he called one of the servants and asked him what was going on. 27'Your brother has come,' he replied, 'and your father has killed the fattened calf because he has him back safe and sound.'
28"The older brother became angry and refused to go in. So his father went out and pleaded with him. 29But he answered his father, 'Look! All these years I've been slaving for you and never disobeyed your orders. Yet you never gave me even a young goat so I could celebrate with my friends. 30But when this son of yours who has squandered your property with prostitutes comes home, you kill the fattened calf for him!'
31" 'My son,' the father said, 'you are always with me, and everything I have is yours. 32But we had to celebrate and be glad, because this brother of yours was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.' "
If the story of the Prodigal Son is Jesus's own story, then the ever-merciful and loving Father is God the Father--the usual interpretation. But who are the two sons? The elder son, the son "who is always with" the Father is surely the Holy Spirit. I will return to why the Spirit would challenge the father's decision in showing mercy to the prodigal brother. Now I want to explain how I see Jesus represented in the wayward son.
Sent out into the world on his own, with the Father's blessing, the prodigal brother wastes his time and fortune with sinners and prostitutes. If you recall, Jesus is reviled by the Pharisees for consorting with such people, and yet such sinners are his best friends and disciples. The prodigal brother loses everything and is reduced to the complete humiliation of envying the food of the pigs he tends. Starving and alone, abandoned by his fair-weather friends, the Prodigal brother turns once again toward home, not sure of the reception he will receive there. From a distance, the father sees him coming and rushes to embrace him, to feed him, to welcome him. To compare...Christ died the shameful and lonely death on the cross, betrayed by his apostles and believing in his pain that his father might have abandoned him. But God the Father raises him up on the third day and welcomes him to the place of honor beside him. In the parable, the Father explains to the elder brother, "We had to celebrate and rejoice, because this brother of yours was dead and has come to life; he was lost and has been found."
Seen this way, as told by Jesus himself, the parable tells of his choice to live a life like one of ours, a fully human, fully tragic life among the weakest of people. In this life, he learned compassion for human folly through the shame and pain he suffered. In dying the execution of the worst kind of sinners, he made belief in the Father's compassion and mercy a real and comprehensible thing. In rising from the dead, he was restored to the Father's abundance, and he gave all sinners hope for mercy and resurrection. In returning home, he became One with the Father and the Spirit.
So why would the Spirit, the elder brother, challenge this course of events? The Spirit, also known in the Old Testament as Lady Wisdom, may represent the mother in this story. I have always thought the absence of the mother to be a strange omission. In fact, I've sometimes wondered if the Father, who is prodigal in his forgiveness of the wayward son, does not respond in a way more expected from a mother. If the elder brother stands in for the Spirit in this story, as well as the missing mother, then the lesson is one of tough love. The question this brother/Spirit truly asks of the Father is this: "Are you really sure you want to forgive and welcome home this profligate son?" The Father's answer is yes--there is enough love for all.
Before he leaves the apostles for good, Jesus tells them the Spirit will come to them and be with them always. Jesus's becoming human, living and dying a human death, made it possible for the Spirit to find a pathway to each human heart.
In the story of Christ's passion, and in our procession with palms in hand, we walk with Christ as he enters Jerusalem for the last time. We worship a Lord who is fully human, in his birth, in his youth as the son of a simple carpenter, and in the difficulties and trials of his life, which led him finally to the Cross. He is a human man, entering the city on the back of a borrowed donkey colt, but the people who have heard of him recognize his divinity. Spreading branches and even garments on the road before him, they praise him as they would a king. The disciples shout, "Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord." Our Lord is fully human and fully divine.
As I've reflected on Christ during the days of Lent, my thoughts kept turning to the Parable of the Prodigal Son. It came to me that the three figures in the parable, the forgiving father and his two sons, might be seen to represent the three figures in the Holy Trinity, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. I know this may sound like a stretch, but think of it this way. Jesus often obviously included himself as a character in the parables he told. Certainly he is the good shepherd who leaves the 99 sheep behind in order to search for the missing one. In the parable of the wayward tenants, he is clearly the landlord's son, sent by his father after the servants have failed to reason with the ruthless tenants, who kill him. It may even be possible to see the Lord as the battered victim left to die by the roadside in the parable of the Good Samaritan. In all of these stories, we can see Jesus presenting his own story to his followers. Why not in the story of the Prodigal Son? I find the idea deeply moving that Jesus would prefigure the circumstances of his death and resurrection in this story.
In case you have forgotten the details, let me read it for you again:
"There was a man who had two sons. 12The younger one said to his father, 'Father, give me my share of the estate.' So he divided his property between them.
13"Not long after that, the younger son got together all he had, set off for a distant country and there squandered his wealth in wild living. 14After he had spent everything, there was a severe famine in that whole country, and he began to be in need. 15So he went and hired himself out to a citizen of that country, who sent him to his fields to feed pigs. 16He longed to fill his stomach with the pods that the pigs were eating, but no one gave him anything.
17"When he came to his senses, he said, 'How many of my father's hired men have food to spare, and here I am starving to death! 18I will set out and go back to my father and say to him: Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. 19I am no longer worthy to be called your son; make me like one of your hired men.'
20So he got up and went to his father.
"But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion for him; he ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed him.
21"The son said to him, 'Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son.[a]'
22"But the father said to his servants, 'Quick! Bring the best robe and put it on him. Put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. 23Bring the fattened calf and kill it. Let's have a feast and celebrate. 24For this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.' So they began to celebrate.
25"Meanwhile, the older son was in the field. When he came near the house, he heard music and dancing. 26So he called one of the servants and asked him what was going on. 27'Your brother has come,' he replied, 'and your father has killed the fattened calf because he has him back safe and sound.'
28"The older brother became angry and refused to go in. So his father went out and pleaded with him. 29But he answered his father, 'Look! All these years I've been slaving for you and never disobeyed your orders. Yet you never gave me even a young goat so I could celebrate with my friends. 30But when this son of yours who has squandered your property with prostitutes comes home, you kill the fattened calf for him!'
31" 'My son,' the father said, 'you are always with me, and everything I have is yours. 32But we had to celebrate and be glad, because this brother of yours was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.' "
If the story of the Prodigal Son is Jesus's own story, then the ever-merciful and loving Father is God the Father--the usual interpretation. But who are the two sons? The elder son, the son "who is always with" the Father is surely the Holy Spirit. I will return to why the Spirit would challenge the father's decision in showing mercy to the prodigal brother. Now I want to explain how I see Jesus represented in the wayward son.
Sent out into the world on his own, with the Father's blessing, the prodigal brother wastes his time and fortune with sinners and prostitutes. If you recall, Jesus is reviled by the Pharisees for consorting with such people, and yet such sinners are his best friends and disciples. The prodigal brother loses everything and is reduced to the complete humiliation of envying the food of the pigs he tends. Starving and alone, abandoned by his fair-weather friends, the Prodigal brother turns once again toward home, not sure of the reception he will receive there. From a distance, the father sees him coming and rushes to embrace him, to feed him, to welcome him. To compare...Christ died the shameful and lonely death on the cross, betrayed by his apostles and believing in his pain that his father might have abandoned him. But God the Father raises him up on the third day and welcomes him to the place of honor beside him. In the parable, the Father explains to the elder brother, "We had to celebrate and rejoice, because this brother of yours was dead and has come to life; he was lost and has been found."
Seen this way, as told by Jesus himself, the parable tells of his choice to live a life like one of ours, a fully human, fully tragic life among the weakest of people. In this life, he learned compassion for human folly through the shame and pain he suffered. In dying the execution of the worst kind of sinners, he made belief in the Father's compassion and mercy a real and comprehensible thing. In rising from the dead, he was restored to the Father's abundance, and he gave all sinners hope for mercy and resurrection. In returning home, he became One with the Father and the Spirit.
So why would the Spirit, the elder brother, challenge this course of events? The Spirit, also known in the Old Testament as Lady Wisdom, may represent the mother in this story. I have always thought the absence of the mother to be a strange omission. In fact, I've sometimes wondered if the Father, who is prodigal in his forgiveness of the wayward son, does not respond in a way more expected from a mother. If the elder brother stands in for the Spirit in this story, as well as the missing mother, then the lesson is one of tough love. The question this brother/Spirit truly asks of the Father is this: "Are you really sure you want to forgive and welcome home this profligate son?" The Father's answer is yes--there is enough love for all.
Before he leaves the apostles for good, Jesus tells them the Spirit will come to them and be with them always. Jesus's becoming human, living and dying a human death, made it possible for the Spirit to find a pathway to each human heart.
Monday, March 1, 2010
Lenten Reflections
Sermon for Lent 2 February 28, 2010
Two Sundays ago, February 14th, Bishop Shannon made his first official visit to Buck Mountain Church and celebrated with us there the last Sunday in the season of Epiphany. That Sunday is also known as Transfiguration Sunday, appropriately, as it makes the transition into Lent, and we are reminded of the mountaintop event when the apostles saw Jesus shining with the radiance of God. Bishop Shannon counseled us to remember that we share in the transfiguration. As poet and priest Gerard Manley Hopkins beautifully expressed it, "The world is charged with the grandeur of God/it will flame out like shining from shook foil..." Through Christ, who lives within us, we are endowed with the ability to shine forth with God's glory and God's blessing.
The collect we read on Transfiguration Sunday includes the following words: "Grant to us that we, beholding by faith the light of his countenance, may be strengthened to bear our cross and be changed into his likeness from glory to glory." I'd like to point out the way this statement is worded: it says, may we "be strengthened to bear our cross." It doesn't say "if we have a cross, help us to bear it." No, the collect assumes what the Lord knows and what we adults have had ample opportunities to learn: all of us have crosses to bear.
Now, I admit that in a secret corner of my heart, and I expect this is true for most of us, I harbor a life-long wish to live to be at least 100, to have good health my whole life, and to have a pain-free, problem-free life. In other words, I would prefer not to have a cross to bear, thank you very much. Of course I know this is a complete fantasy. There is scarcely a day that goes by when we don't have some difficulty to face, whether it is a small annoyance, like feeling misunderstood by a coworker, or a major crisis, like dealing with illness or the illness of someone we love. Crosses are plentiful.
During a baptism, the priest or bishop anoints the child's forehead with oil, making the sign of the cross and saying, "You are sealed by the Holy Spirit in Baptism and marked as Christ's own forever." I am grateful we renew our baptismal vows from time to time. It is always good to be reminded that we have been sealed and marked as "Christ's own forever." The sign of the cross symbolizes our union with Christ.
There are three occasions when a priest makes the sign of the cross on someone's forehead. One is at baptism. Another is during a healing service, when the person is anointed with oil and the priest prays for his or her physical and spiritual healing. The third occurs in a solemn ritual to mark the beginning of the penitential season of Lent, the imposition of ashes on Ash Wednesday, when the priest says these words: "Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return." Why is a cross applied to our bodies in such a personal way on these three sacramental occasions?
The cross traced lovingly on our forehead is the place where divinity and humanity meet. Because we are human, each of us has a cross to bear. The cross reminds us of this, but it also reminds us that Christ became human, lived and died as one of us, so that He could understand and share our suffering. We are not alone in our suffering or in our joy. As Paul writes in the letter to the Philipians, "He will transform the body of our humiliation that it may be conformed to the body of his glory..." The spark of His divinity we carry inside us is a transfiguring spirit, capable of breathing life into the very dust. Some effort is required of us, however; we play an important part in our own transformation from sinner to saved, from cross-bearer to one who is redeemed.
The forty days of Lent are set aside as a time to repent. One definition of repent is "to think again." How often do we willingly revisit the choices we have made or the words we've said? Such self-examination requires us to be honest about our behavior and our attitudes. When we seek forgiveness, we need to acknowledge the ways we have missed the mark, especially since the Lord knows them before we do. Another meaning of the word repent is "turn again." By being honest and humble about our own failings, we make a conscious decision to turn more fully to God.
The gospel lesson for last Sunday, the first Sunday in Lent, was the story of Jesus's forty days in the wilderness. Remember, before he entered the wilderness, Jesus had just been baptized, had just heard the voice of God proclaiming him as His beloved Son. No wonder he needed some time alone, to examine his own heart and determine what he was being called to do. During his long stay in the desert, we are told by Luke, "He ate nothing at all during those days, and when they were over, he was famished." It is at this point, at a time of great physical stress and mental anguish, when Jesus undergoes a very human experience: he is tempted by Satan. Luke tells the story of this encounter and Satan's three temptations in striking words:
The first one: "The devil said to him, 'If you are the Son of God, command this stone to become a loaf of bread.'" And the second...
"Then the devil led him up and showed him in an instant all the kingdoms of the world. And the devil said to him, 'To you I will give their glory and all this authority; for it has been given over to me, and I give it to anyone I please. If you, then, will worship me, it will all be yours.'" Finally...
"Then the devil took him to Jerusalem, and placed him on the pinnacle of the temple, saying to him, 'If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down from here, for it is written,
'He will command his angels concerning you,
to protect you,'
and
'On their hands they will bear you up, so that you will not dash your foot against a stone.'"
When I was a child, I heard this story and imagined a red-horned devil, like the cartoonish one that sits on a person's shoulder and competes for her soul with the angel on her other shoulder. Now, I think it is more terrifying to recognize in Jesus’s experience a tempter like the one I often encounter. Jesus, in the wilderness to come to terms with the staggering challenge of being called God's son, is not only wrestling with his identity, but is weak and starving as well. At this very vulnerable moment, his thoughts have taken him to a dangerous place: the place where he feels the need to test his power and test the father who gave such power to him. That's not very surprising, is it?
The first temptation, the first wayward thought, has to do with his most pressing need: hunger. Someone who is starving is capable of doing very drastic things in order to get food, and may even be subject to hallucinations. We can almost see that interior demon whispering, “Shouldn’t the Son of God be able to turn a stone into something to eat?” Jesus shows remarkable strength in brushing that thought aside.
While the first temptation had to do with a basic physical need, the next one appeals to pride. “Then the devil led him up and showed him in an instant all the kingdoms of the world.” Can you imagine that vision, as the Lord must have seen it? We learn much about his humility when he resists the offer of unimaginable power.
The third temptation sounds like a product of fear, a foreseeing into the dark end he faces. He must have wondered, will my father really be there to rescue me when I need him, or is this all my imagination? Yes, the psalm says the angels will swarm to protect him, but can he trust that to happen? Can he trust the absent Father to come through for him? Those are thoughts we have certainly had in our most fearful moments. At this point in his life, Christ has not begun his ministry and is beginning to come to terms with his identity and the difficulties he will surely face. It isn't so surprising his fear may cause him to question God, to have a sliver of doubt.
No, it's not surprising that a starving young man at the beginning of a new and challenging ministry would suffer the temptations of doubt and fear. What is remarkable is how decisively he rejects them. As we face our own inner demons during this Lenten season (and during any season of the year), it is very good to be reminded that Christ has faced demons of his own. He understands that kind of human suffering, too. The forty days of the Lenten penitential season are offered as a kind of wilderness experience for us, and we can be comforted by the knowledge that Christ knows how to deal with temptations and intervenes for us as we confront our own demons.
The point of fasting, or whatever penitential practice we undertake during Lent, is to teach us to endure hardship as it brings us closer to our Lord. Paul says as much in his letter to the Corinthians, "as servants of God we have commended ourselves in every way: through great endurance, in afflictions, hardships, calamities." Now, it is unlikely any of us will have to endure the kinds of afflictions, hardships and calamities that Paul describes, which include beatings and imprisonment. The cross we wear reminds us that Christ endured the worst kind of hardship on our behalves, so we don't have to. Through our Lenten practice, we acknowledge the reality of that gift with gratitude.
The prophet Joel has the Lord say it in this way: "Return to me with all your heart, with fasting, with weeping, and with mourning; rend your hearts and not your clothing. Return to the Lord your God, for he is gracious and merciful." In our Lenten reflection, we rend our hearts with repentance, with self-examination and self-honesty, and with God's mercy, we survive the process.
Close your eyes and imagine a cross being traced on your forehead. Remember, it is Christ's finger touching you, Christ reassuring you that he is ever with you, especially in times of pain. Yes, we are dust and to dust we will return, but even the dust is holy.
Our psalm for today, Psalm 27, offers some of the most comforting words anyone could hear during a time of distress. I would like to have us read that together now. It is found on page 617 of the Book of Common Prayer.
Psalm 27 Page 617, BCP
Dominus illuminatio
1
The LORD is my light and my salvation;
whom then shall I fear? *
the LORD is the strength of my life;
of whom then shall I be afraid?
2
When evildoers came upon me to eat up my flesh, *
it was they, my foes and my adversaries, who
stumbled and fell.
3
Though an army should encamp against me, *
yet my heart shall not be afraid;
4
And though war should rise up against me, *
yet will I put my trust in him.
5
One thing have I asked of the LORD;
one thing I seek; *
that I may dwell in the house of the LORD all the days
of my life;
6
To behold the fair beauty of the LORD *
and to seek him in his temple.
7
For in the day of trouble he shall keep me safe
in his shelter; *
he shall hide me in the secrecy of his dwelling
and set me high upon a rock.
8
Even now he lifts up my head *
above my enemies round about me.
9
Therefore I will offer in his dwelling an oblation
with sounds of great gladness; *
I will sing and make music to the LORD.
10
Hearken to my voice, O LORD, when I call; *
have mercy on me and answer me.
11
You speak in my heart and say, "Seek my face." *
Your face, LORD, will I seek.
12
Hide not your face from me, *
nor turn away your servant in displeasure.
13
You have been my helper;
cast me not away; *
do not forsake me, O God of my salvation.
14
Though my father and my mother forsake me, *
the LORD will sustain me.
15
Show me your way, O LORD; *
lead me on a level path, because of my enemies.
16
Deliver me not into the hand of my adversaries, *
for false witnesses have risen up against me,
and also those who speak malice.
17
What if I had not believed
that I should see the goodness of the LORD *
in the land of the living!
18
O tarry and await the LORD'S pleasure;
be strong, and he shall comfort your heart; *
wait patiently for the LORD.
Glory to the father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit, as it was in the beginning, is now, and will be forever. Amen.
Two Sundays ago, February 14th, Bishop Shannon made his first official visit to Buck Mountain Church and celebrated with us there the last Sunday in the season of Epiphany. That Sunday is also known as Transfiguration Sunday, appropriately, as it makes the transition into Lent, and we are reminded of the mountaintop event when the apostles saw Jesus shining with the radiance of God. Bishop Shannon counseled us to remember that we share in the transfiguration. As poet and priest Gerard Manley Hopkins beautifully expressed it, "The world is charged with the grandeur of God/it will flame out like shining from shook foil..." Through Christ, who lives within us, we are endowed with the ability to shine forth with God's glory and God's blessing.
The collect we read on Transfiguration Sunday includes the following words: "Grant to us that we, beholding by faith the light of his countenance, may be strengthened to bear our cross and be changed into his likeness from glory to glory." I'd like to point out the way this statement is worded: it says, may we "be strengthened to bear our cross." It doesn't say "if we have a cross, help us to bear it." No, the collect assumes what the Lord knows and what we adults have had ample opportunities to learn: all of us have crosses to bear.
Now, I admit that in a secret corner of my heart, and I expect this is true for most of us, I harbor a life-long wish to live to be at least 100, to have good health my whole life, and to have a pain-free, problem-free life. In other words, I would prefer not to have a cross to bear, thank you very much. Of course I know this is a complete fantasy. There is scarcely a day that goes by when we don't have some difficulty to face, whether it is a small annoyance, like feeling misunderstood by a coworker, or a major crisis, like dealing with illness or the illness of someone we love. Crosses are plentiful.
During a baptism, the priest or bishop anoints the child's forehead with oil, making the sign of the cross and saying, "You are sealed by the Holy Spirit in Baptism and marked as Christ's own forever." I am grateful we renew our baptismal vows from time to time. It is always good to be reminded that we have been sealed and marked as "Christ's own forever." The sign of the cross symbolizes our union with Christ.
There are three occasions when a priest makes the sign of the cross on someone's forehead. One is at baptism. Another is during a healing service, when the person is anointed with oil and the priest prays for his or her physical and spiritual healing. The third occurs in a solemn ritual to mark the beginning of the penitential season of Lent, the imposition of ashes on Ash Wednesday, when the priest says these words: "Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return." Why is a cross applied to our bodies in such a personal way on these three sacramental occasions?
The cross traced lovingly on our forehead is the place where divinity and humanity meet. Because we are human, each of us has a cross to bear. The cross reminds us of this, but it also reminds us that Christ became human, lived and died as one of us, so that He could understand and share our suffering. We are not alone in our suffering or in our joy. As Paul writes in the letter to the Philipians, "He will transform the body of our humiliation that it may be conformed to the body of his glory..." The spark of His divinity we carry inside us is a transfiguring spirit, capable of breathing life into the very dust. Some effort is required of us, however; we play an important part in our own transformation from sinner to saved, from cross-bearer to one who is redeemed.
The forty days of Lent are set aside as a time to repent. One definition of repent is "to think again." How often do we willingly revisit the choices we have made or the words we've said? Such self-examination requires us to be honest about our behavior and our attitudes. When we seek forgiveness, we need to acknowledge the ways we have missed the mark, especially since the Lord knows them before we do. Another meaning of the word repent is "turn again." By being honest and humble about our own failings, we make a conscious decision to turn more fully to God.
The gospel lesson for last Sunday, the first Sunday in Lent, was the story of Jesus's forty days in the wilderness. Remember, before he entered the wilderness, Jesus had just been baptized, had just heard the voice of God proclaiming him as His beloved Son. No wonder he needed some time alone, to examine his own heart and determine what he was being called to do. During his long stay in the desert, we are told by Luke, "He ate nothing at all during those days, and when they were over, he was famished." It is at this point, at a time of great physical stress and mental anguish, when Jesus undergoes a very human experience: he is tempted by Satan. Luke tells the story of this encounter and Satan's three temptations in striking words:
The first one: "The devil said to him, 'If you are the Son of God, command this stone to become a loaf of bread.'" And the second...
"Then the devil led him up and showed him in an instant all the kingdoms of the world. And the devil said to him, 'To you I will give their glory and all this authority; for it has been given over to me, and I give it to anyone I please. If you, then, will worship me, it will all be yours.'" Finally...
"Then the devil took him to Jerusalem, and placed him on the pinnacle of the temple, saying to him, 'If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down from here, for it is written,
'He will command his angels concerning you,
to protect you,'
and
'On their hands they will bear you up, so that you will not dash your foot against a stone.'"
When I was a child, I heard this story and imagined a red-horned devil, like the cartoonish one that sits on a person's shoulder and competes for her soul with the angel on her other shoulder. Now, I think it is more terrifying to recognize in Jesus’s experience a tempter like the one I often encounter. Jesus, in the wilderness to come to terms with the staggering challenge of being called God's son, is not only wrestling with his identity, but is weak and starving as well. At this very vulnerable moment, his thoughts have taken him to a dangerous place: the place where he feels the need to test his power and test the father who gave such power to him. That's not very surprising, is it?
The first temptation, the first wayward thought, has to do with his most pressing need: hunger. Someone who is starving is capable of doing very drastic things in order to get food, and may even be subject to hallucinations. We can almost see that interior demon whispering, “Shouldn’t the Son of God be able to turn a stone into something to eat?” Jesus shows remarkable strength in brushing that thought aside.
While the first temptation had to do with a basic physical need, the next one appeals to pride. “Then the devil led him up and showed him in an instant all the kingdoms of the world.” Can you imagine that vision, as the Lord must have seen it? We learn much about his humility when he resists the offer of unimaginable power.
The third temptation sounds like a product of fear, a foreseeing into the dark end he faces. He must have wondered, will my father really be there to rescue me when I need him, or is this all my imagination? Yes, the psalm says the angels will swarm to protect him, but can he trust that to happen? Can he trust the absent Father to come through for him? Those are thoughts we have certainly had in our most fearful moments. At this point in his life, Christ has not begun his ministry and is beginning to come to terms with his identity and the difficulties he will surely face. It isn't so surprising his fear may cause him to question God, to have a sliver of doubt.
No, it's not surprising that a starving young man at the beginning of a new and challenging ministry would suffer the temptations of doubt and fear. What is remarkable is how decisively he rejects them. As we face our own inner demons during this Lenten season (and during any season of the year), it is very good to be reminded that Christ has faced demons of his own. He understands that kind of human suffering, too. The forty days of the Lenten penitential season are offered as a kind of wilderness experience for us, and we can be comforted by the knowledge that Christ knows how to deal with temptations and intervenes for us as we confront our own demons.
The point of fasting, or whatever penitential practice we undertake during Lent, is to teach us to endure hardship as it brings us closer to our Lord. Paul says as much in his letter to the Corinthians, "as servants of God we have commended ourselves in every way: through great endurance, in afflictions, hardships, calamities." Now, it is unlikely any of us will have to endure the kinds of afflictions, hardships and calamities that Paul describes, which include beatings and imprisonment. The cross we wear reminds us that Christ endured the worst kind of hardship on our behalves, so we don't have to. Through our Lenten practice, we acknowledge the reality of that gift with gratitude.
The prophet Joel has the Lord say it in this way: "Return to me with all your heart, with fasting, with weeping, and with mourning; rend your hearts and not your clothing. Return to the Lord your God, for he is gracious and merciful." In our Lenten reflection, we rend our hearts with repentance, with self-examination and self-honesty, and with God's mercy, we survive the process.
Close your eyes and imagine a cross being traced on your forehead. Remember, it is Christ's finger touching you, Christ reassuring you that he is ever with you, especially in times of pain. Yes, we are dust and to dust we will return, but even the dust is holy.
Our psalm for today, Psalm 27, offers some of the most comforting words anyone could hear during a time of distress. I would like to have us read that together now. It is found on page 617 of the Book of Common Prayer.
Psalm 27 Page 617, BCP
Dominus illuminatio
1
The LORD is my light and my salvation;
whom then shall I fear? *
the LORD is the strength of my life;
of whom then shall I be afraid?
2
When evildoers came upon me to eat up my flesh, *
it was they, my foes and my adversaries, who
stumbled and fell.
3
Though an army should encamp against me, *
yet my heart shall not be afraid;
4
And though war should rise up against me, *
yet will I put my trust in him.
5
One thing have I asked of the LORD;
one thing I seek; *
that I may dwell in the house of the LORD all the days
of my life;
6
To behold the fair beauty of the LORD *
and to seek him in his temple.
7
For in the day of trouble he shall keep me safe
in his shelter; *
he shall hide me in the secrecy of his dwelling
and set me high upon a rock.
8
Even now he lifts up my head *
above my enemies round about me.
9
Therefore I will offer in his dwelling an oblation
with sounds of great gladness; *
I will sing and make music to the LORD.
10
Hearken to my voice, O LORD, when I call; *
have mercy on me and answer me.
11
You speak in my heart and say, "Seek my face." *
Your face, LORD, will I seek.
12
Hide not your face from me, *
nor turn away your servant in displeasure.
13
You have been my helper;
cast me not away; *
do not forsake me, O God of my salvation.
14
Though my father and my mother forsake me, *
the LORD will sustain me.
15
Show me your way, O LORD; *
lead me on a level path, because of my enemies.
16
Deliver me not into the hand of my adversaries, *
for false witnesses have risen up against me,
and also those who speak malice.
17
What if I had not believed
that I should see the goodness of the LORD *
in the land of the living!
18
O tarry and await the LORD'S pleasure;
be strong, and he shall comfort your heart; *
wait patiently for the LORD.
Glory to the father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit, as it was in the beginning, is now, and will be forever. Amen.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
A Meditation on Kindness
Homily for Sunday, January 24, 2010 Buck Mountain Church and Graves Chapel
Lessons:
Nehemiah 8:1-3, 5-6, 8-10
Psalm 19
1 Corinthians 12:12-31a
Luke 4:14-21
A living one-month old baby was pulled from the ruins in Haiti on Tuesday, a full week after the earthquake. A miracle, wasn’t it? And cause for rejoicing in the face of so much horror and suffering. All around America, people like us watch our televisions and listen to the radio for news about the disaster. We pray for the injured and grieving, for the rescuers and medical teams, for the future of Haiti. We are filled with good-will towards the faraway victims, and we make generous donations. We understand that our kindness is both righteous and necessary.
In fact, kindness may be the most necessary of all virtues. As priest and theologian Henri Nouwen put it, “Jesus’s whole life was a witness to his Father’s love, and Jesus calls his followers to carry on that witness in his Name. We, as followers of Jesus, are sent into this world to be visible signs of God’s unconditional love.”
Being visible signs of God’s unconditional love is pretty easy when it comes to sending aid to earthquake victims. It can be a far more difficult proposition when it comes to showing kindness on a day-to-day basis to the people with whom we routinely interact—our families, our co-workers, our friends. We lose patience. We expect too much of each other. We take our relationships for granted. Love and kindness aren't always easy.
There is another problem with kindness in the real world we inhabit. As an attribute, kindness won’t get you very far in a world that values competition, aggression, assertiveness, self-fulfillment. Getting ahead and getting what we want from life is a philosophy that looks down its nose at kindness. Listen:
She is so sweet... He is such a kind man...He would give you the shirt off his back...She would do anything for you...Have you ever noticed how such compliments are stated? It seems to me that an assessment such as "She is so sweet" carries with it the implication that she must also be not quite right. [There is a Southern female tradition of saying something like, "She is so sweet" and adding "Bless her heart" to imply the speaker meant the exact opposite.] People who are perceived to be truly kind and gentle are also, apparently, often considered to be lightweights, as if they are not tuned in to reality. Unconditional love and kindness won't get you very far in our cynical modern world, or so it seems.
This sardonic attitude is not new, however; the eye-rolling dismissal of gentleness has been around for centuries. Herod displays it when he tells the wise men, "Go and search diligently for the child; and when you have found him, bring me word so that I may also go and pay him homage." Herod sees as foolishness the loving devotion that brought the three kings such a distance, bearing gifts for an unknown infant, and he assumes he can trick them into revealing the identity of the babe they seek. But God is in their wisdom as well as their dreams, and the three kings foil Herod's plan to destroy the baby Jesus by taking a different route as they head for home.
The feast of the Epiphany, celebrated on January 6th, commemorates the wise men's journey and begins the Season of Light, which will last until Ash Wednesday. Epiphany means "manifestation" or "revelation" and stands for the idea that the birth of Jesus is a revealing of the Word of God in human form. The star shed a very bright light, indeed, and it is the light of love.Our lessons today, for the third Sunday of Epiphany, concern Jesus's understanding of what he is called to do and our instructions for how we are to follow Him. It seems to me that love and kindness are at the heart of both.
As the story is told in Luke 4, Jesus is at the very beginning of his ministry when he returns home to Nazareth. In the synagogue for the Sabbath, he is given the scroll of the prophet Isaiah to read, and he opens to these words: "The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor." After he reads and rolls up the scroll, Jesus simply states: "Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing." He declares himself to be the anointed one and says that he has been called by God to help the poor, the imprisoned, the sick and disabled, the oppressed. He has been called to make manifest the unconditional love of God. He has been called to a mission of kindness.
Paul's letter to the Corinthians reminds them that a considerate respect for one another will be the tie that binds their church community together. After I read this epistle, I contemplated preparing index cards labeled boldly with the names of the various body parts. I thought I might hand them out to all of you as you entered the church and have you represent an organ or a limb, an eye or an ear. Then I could say, "All internal organs, stand up now!" It didn't take me long to realize that wouldn't go over very well. It would miss Paul's point, anyway. Paul wants us to understand that we make up the body of the church as we bring our unique gifts to the service of the community of Christ. No part of the body is unnecessary or inferior; all are equally important, even if some are more modest and less outwardly visible. If we do, as Paul suggests, think of each other as the various parts of one body, the body of the "one holy catholic and apostolic church," we might appreciate each other more and treat each other with more love and kindness. Eugenia, our left foot, might get a bunion and be a pain sometimes, but we wouldn't want to cut her off, would we? As Paul says, "If one member suffers, all suffer together with it." The point of suffering together is to ease each other's burdens and to give each other hope in the Lord.
I don't know if you are a Masterpiece Theater fan, as I am, but if you are, I hope you won't mind hearing a little bit about Masterpiece Classic's most recent series, Cranford, based on novels by Elizabeth Gaskell, and set in a small town in Victorian England. The main character, Matty Jenkyns, played by Judi Dench, and her sister Deborah are the spinster daughters of the town's former rector, and they are at the center of a circle of women, spinsters and widows, who take it upon themselves to set the moral and social standards for Cranford. Matty looks to Deborah, who is older and sharper, to be the ultimate arbiter in all matters, and though Deborah can appear to be rather strict and harsh, she also can be wise and generous. When Miss Pole, the worst gossip of the group, arrives with some out-of-breath news to impart, Deborah is careful to question her and get a truer perspective on the tidbit before she gives it any credence. After Deborah suffers a stroke and dies unexpectedly, Matty must learn to value her own wisdom. Matty's wisdom is very much the wisdom of kindness.
When Matty was a young woman in love, Deborah had disapproved of her young man, and Matty had ended the relationship. After Matty's second chance to marry the man she loves does not come to fruition, she does not become embittered or resentful. In fact, she believes even more strongly that love should not be thwarted, and she tells her maid Martha that she will permit her to see young men, something forbidden to the maids of her friends. Ultimately, Matty's kindness to Martha and her boyfriend Jim results in their coming to her rescue when she falls unexpectedly on hard financial times. They marry and move in with her, providing her the income of their rent and the company of their infant daughter, whom Mattie treats like her own granddaughter. Imagine! Treating the maid and her daughter as you would members of your own family!
You might think such behavior in defiance of social codes of conduct would completely ostracize Matty from her very proper friends, but that isn't what happens. Matty is such a loving, generous, and kind person, her friends cannot betray her, although they may disapprove of her choices.
When the new-fangled railroad threatens to run right through Cranford, the ladies are up in arms in opposition. They fear the railroad will destroy life in Cranford as they know it. At first Matty is in agreement with her friends and sees the railroad as a dangerous imposition. But Matty is an observer, someone who keeps a close and loving eye on her friends and neighbors, especially the young ones, and she is convinced that it is wrong for her peers to block the kind of progress the railroad will bring. Although interfering with such a matter was very much not in the nature of the very modest Matty, she once again demonstrates her boldness to defend what she believes to be the right thing. Her gentle kindness does not make her weak or retiring.
Over the course of several episodes, Matty suffers many setbacks, some of which might make me want to climb in bed under a blanket and never come out. Near the end, after one more disaster, Matty is reminded of the Greek myth of Pandora, and she believes herself to be, like Pandora, the unwitting instrument of pain for all those around her. (She isn't, of course.) Finally she recalls the end of the tale, how Pandora managed to keep hope in the box from which she released all the world's troubles. So Miss Matty focuses on hope and how to share it with her community. Using up the last of her savings, Miss Matty gives a very special Christmas gift to the town of Cranford. And you know what? Although the gift is bestowed by an act of unconditional love--Miss Matty herself says "Love is the final word"-- it redounds to her in unexpected and wonderful ways.
That's the way of love, isn't it? As J. M. Barrie said, "Those who bring sunshine to the lives of others cannot keep it from themselves."
Let us pray for all those who selflessly give to others, who love and care for earthquake victims or for the lonely shut-in down the street. They live in the kingdom of kindness, and we know them by their love. That is what Christ wished for all of his disciples. That is what he wishes for us.
Lessons:
Nehemiah 8:1-3, 5-6, 8-10
Psalm 19
1 Corinthians 12:12-31a
Luke 4:14-21
A living one-month old baby was pulled from the ruins in Haiti on Tuesday, a full week after the earthquake. A miracle, wasn’t it? And cause for rejoicing in the face of so much horror and suffering. All around America, people like us watch our televisions and listen to the radio for news about the disaster. We pray for the injured and grieving, for the rescuers and medical teams, for the future of Haiti. We are filled with good-will towards the faraway victims, and we make generous donations. We understand that our kindness is both righteous and necessary.
In fact, kindness may be the most necessary of all virtues. As priest and theologian Henri Nouwen put it, “Jesus’s whole life was a witness to his Father’s love, and Jesus calls his followers to carry on that witness in his Name. We, as followers of Jesus, are sent into this world to be visible signs of God’s unconditional love.”
Being visible signs of God’s unconditional love is pretty easy when it comes to sending aid to earthquake victims. It can be a far more difficult proposition when it comes to showing kindness on a day-to-day basis to the people with whom we routinely interact—our families, our co-workers, our friends. We lose patience. We expect too much of each other. We take our relationships for granted. Love and kindness aren't always easy.
There is another problem with kindness in the real world we inhabit. As an attribute, kindness won’t get you very far in a world that values competition, aggression, assertiveness, self-fulfillment. Getting ahead and getting what we want from life is a philosophy that looks down its nose at kindness. Listen:
She is so sweet... He is such a kind man...He would give you the shirt off his back...She would do anything for you...Have you ever noticed how such compliments are stated? It seems to me that an assessment such as "She is so sweet" carries with it the implication that she must also be not quite right. [There is a Southern female tradition of saying something like, "She is so sweet" and adding "Bless her heart" to imply the speaker meant the exact opposite.] People who are perceived to be truly kind and gentle are also, apparently, often considered to be lightweights, as if they are not tuned in to reality. Unconditional love and kindness won't get you very far in our cynical modern world, or so it seems.
This sardonic attitude is not new, however; the eye-rolling dismissal of gentleness has been around for centuries. Herod displays it when he tells the wise men, "Go and search diligently for the child; and when you have found him, bring me word so that I may also go and pay him homage." Herod sees as foolishness the loving devotion that brought the three kings such a distance, bearing gifts for an unknown infant, and he assumes he can trick them into revealing the identity of the babe they seek. But God is in their wisdom as well as their dreams, and the three kings foil Herod's plan to destroy the baby Jesus by taking a different route as they head for home.
The feast of the Epiphany, celebrated on January 6th, commemorates the wise men's journey and begins the Season of Light, which will last until Ash Wednesday. Epiphany means "manifestation" or "revelation" and stands for the idea that the birth of Jesus is a revealing of the Word of God in human form. The star shed a very bright light, indeed, and it is the light of love.Our lessons today, for the third Sunday of Epiphany, concern Jesus's understanding of what he is called to do and our instructions for how we are to follow Him. It seems to me that love and kindness are at the heart of both.
As the story is told in Luke 4, Jesus is at the very beginning of his ministry when he returns home to Nazareth. In the synagogue for the Sabbath, he is given the scroll of the prophet Isaiah to read, and he opens to these words: "The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor." After he reads and rolls up the scroll, Jesus simply states: "Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing." He declares himself to be the anointed one and says that he has been called by God to help the poor, the imprisoned, the sick and disabled, the oppressed. He has been called to make manifest the unconditional love of God. He has been called to a mission of kindness.
Paul's letter to the Corinthians reminds them that a considerate respect for one another will be the tie that binds their church community together. After I read this epistle, I contemplated preparing index cards labeled boldly with the names of the various body parts. I thought I might hand them out to all of you as you entered the church and have you represent an organ or a limb, an eye or an ear. Then I could say, "All internal organs, stand up now!" It didn't take me long to realize that wouldn't go over very well. It would miss Paul's point, anyway. Paul wants us to understand that we make up the body of the church as we bring our unique gifts to the service of the community of Christ. No part of the body is unnecessary or inferior; all are equally important, even if some are more modest and less outwardly visible. If we do, as Paul suggests, think of each other as the various parts of one body, the body of the "one holy catholic and apostolic church," we might appreciate each other more and treat each other with more love and kindness. Eugenia, our left foot, might get a bunion and be a pain sometimes, but we wouldn't want to cut her off, would we? As Paul says, "If one member suffers, all suffer together with it." The point of suffering together is to ease each other's burdens and to give each other hope in the Lord.
I don't know if you are a Masterpiece Theater fan, as I am, but if you are, I hope you won't mind hearing a little bit about Masterpiece Classic's most recent series, Cranford, based on novels by Elizabeth Gaskell, and set in a small town in Victorian England. The main character, Matty Jenkyns, played by Judi Dench, and her sister Deborah are the spinster daughters of the town's former rector, and they are at the center of a circle of women, spinsters and widows, who take it upon themselves to set the moral and social standards for Cranford. Matty looks to Deborah, who is older and sharper, to be the ultimate arbiter in all matters, and though Deborah can appear to be rather strict and harsh, she also can be wise and generous. When Miss Pole, the worst gossip of the group, arrives with some out-of-breath news to impart, Deborah is careful to question her and get a truer perspective on the tidbit before she gives it any credence. After Deborah suffers a stroke and dies unexpectedly, Matty must learn to value her own wisdom. Matty's wisdom is very much the wisdom of kindness.
When Matty was a young woman in love, Deborah had disapproved of her young man, and Matty had ended the relationship. After Matty's second chance to marry the man she loves does not come to fruition, she does not become embittered or resentful. In fact, she believes even more strongly that love should not be thwarted, and she tells her maid Martha that she will permit her to see young men, something forbidden to the maids of her friends. Ultimately, Matty's kindness to Martha and her boyfriend Jim results in their coming to her rescue when she falls unexpectedly on hard financial times. They marry and move in with her, providing her the income of their rent and the company of their infant daughter, whom Mattie treats like her own granddaughter. Imagine! Treating the maid and her daughter as you would members of your own family!
You might think such behavior in defiance of social codes of conduct would completely ostracize Matty from her very proper friends, but that isn't what happens. Matty is such a loving, generous, and kind person, her friends cannot betray her, although they may disapprove of her choices.
When the new-fangled railroad threatens to run right through Cranford, the ladies are up in arms in opposition. They fear the railroad will destroy life in Cranford as they know it. At first Matty is in agreement with her friends and sees the railroad as a dangerous imposition. But Matty is an observer, someone who keeps a close and loving eye on her friends and neighbors, especially the young ones, and she is convinced that it is wrong for her peers to block the kind of progress the railroad will bring. Although interfering with such a matter was very much not in the nature of the very modest Matty, she once again demonstrates her boldness to defend what she believes to be the right thing. Her gentle kindness does not make her weak or retiring.
Over the course of several episodes, Matty suffers many setbacks, some of which might make me want to climb in bed under a blanket and never come out. Near the end, after one more disaster, Matty is reminded of the Greek myth of Pandora, and she believes herself to be, like Pandora, the unwitting instrument of pain for all those around her. (She isn't, of course.) Finally she recalls the end of the tale, how Pandora managed to keep hope in the box from which she released all the world's troubles. So Miss Matty focuses on hope and how to share it with her community. Using up the last of her savings, Miss Matty gives a very special Christmas gift to the town of Cranford. And you know what? Although the gift is bestowed by an act of unconditional love--Miss Matty herself says "Love is the final word"-- it redounds to her in unexpected and wonderful ways.
That's the way of love, isn't it? As J. M. Barrie said, "Those who bring sunshine to the lives of others cannot keep it from themselves."
Let us pray for all those who selflessly give to others, who love and care for earthquake victims or for the lonely shut-in down the street. They live in the kingdom of kindness, and we know them by their love. That is what Christ wished for all of his disciples. That is what he wishes for us.
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