Christ the King of Love

Homily for Sunday, November 20^th         Harvest Service at Graves Chapel

Christ the King of Love

Lessons for today:

Psalm 46

Colossians 1: 11-20

Luke 23: 33-43

Collect for today:

Almighty and everlasting God, whose will it is to restore all things in your well-beloved Son, the King of kings and Lord of lords: Mercifully grant that the peoples of the earth, divided and enslaved by sin, may be freed and brought together under his most gracious rule; who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.

In the rhythm of American cultural life, we prepare for the annual frenzy of the holiday season. This Thursday, Thanksgiving will launch us forward, whether we are ready or not, to the day that is for the youngest among us the most delightful day of the year—Christmas, when we celebrate the birth of the one we call the Prince of Peace.

In the cycle of the church year, however, today is Christ the King Sunday, the very last Sunday of the church calendar.  In today’s gospel lesson, Luke tells the story of the crucifixion of Jesus, and for the faithful stragglers gathered beneath the cross, it must have seemed to be the end of a hope and a dream.  How do we move from Golgotha to the holy and joyous birth in Bethlehem in just over a month?

The public reign of Christ the King occurred only during the few hours Jesus hung and died upon the cross. It was here that the Roman authorities ironically proclaimed him as King for the first and only time in his life.  Pilate ordered a sign which read, “This is the King of the Jews” to be tacked above his head on the cross.  What kind of king does Jesus reveal himself to be?

Jesus reveals himself to be the kind of king who forgives even the men who execute him in a most horrible way. After the soldiers nailed him to the cross, Jesus said, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.”  Then, as he watched them, they argued and cast lots as they gambled for his clothing. They mocked him, saying, “If you are the king of the Jews, save yourself.”  Jesus was silent.

Jesus reveals himself to be a king whose forgiving and merciful love is unconditional. Two thieves hung from the crosses on either side of Jesus. One of them joined in the derision of the soldiers, saying to the Lord, “Are you not the Messiah? Save yourself and us.”  Jesus was silent.

Then, the other thief defended Jesus, saying, “Do you not fear God, since we are under the same sentence of condemnation?  And we indeed have been condemned justly, for we are getting what we deserve, but this man has done nothing wrong.” Then, he looked at the Lord, and said simply, “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.”  This time, the Lord replied, assuring the man, “Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise.”

In his exchange with the second thief, Jesus does not ask about the man’s crime or guilt. He doesn’t ask if he has repented. Jesus does not judge nor condemn him. When the thief speaks to him, asking for his mercy, mercy is granted. The simple need of the thief calls out to the Lord, and the Lord, as he has always done, responds with love and mercy to that need.  During his ministry, Jesus had said, “Blessed are the merciful, for they shall receive mercy.” Even in the hour of his excruciating death, Jesus is the one who blesses and forgives.

In the years of his life and brief ministry, Jesus was a Lord of humility, generosity, and love. He favored mercy over judgment and erected no barriers in his response to the needs of the most vulnerable members of his society, those considered social outcasts: the poor, the disabled, lepers, those possessed by demons. Tax collectors and publicans. Samaritans. A thief. In becoming Christ the King, Jesus embodied the love of God. As Paul wrote in his letter to the Colossians, “For in him, all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell, and through him God was pleased to reconcile to himself all things, whether on earth or in heaven, by making peace through the blood of his cross.”

Please ponder now with me the brutal means by which this reconciliation of peace took place.  In his crucifixion, Jesus suffered, bled, and died on behalf of all of us, to reconcile us to God and to one another. In his suffering, he showed us that to be true servants of God, we must love and serve one another, no matter the cost.

Look at the cross. Consider the head of the Lord at the center point, bowed and bleeding from the crown of thorns placed there by the mocking soldiers.  His chest is extended. He has difficulty breathing. His downcast eyes are full of pity for the ones he loves, the ones huddled beneath the cross. His eyes are full of pity for the thieves, the soldiers and for us. He suffers for us.

See how his arms are extended, stretched taut by the way his hands are nailed to the cross.  Think of how those arms are spread wide in an embrace of all who come near to him, all whose need speaks to him, the Lord of Mercy. Think of how those wide-stretched arms offer shelter to the ones who seek him.  He suffers with us, and that suffering illustrates his compassion. In the old hymn, we sing that the “old rugged cross” is “the emblem of suffering and shame.”  But it is also the emblem of true love and true mercy.

I am reminded of an oddly sweet passage earlier in Luke, when Jesus says, “Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it! How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing.”  Jesus defines his compassion for us in feminine terms, as mothering protection.  On the cross, his arms are outstretched in the way the hen’s wings would have been spread to shield her brood of chicks.

Jesus says that the people of Jerusalem were not willing to accept what he had to offer them. Are we willing to welcome the Lord’s compassion? Will we share that compassion in His way by serving and suffering with others?  Jesus says, “Whoever does not carry the cross and follow me cannot be my disciple.”  If we hope to be disciples of Christ, then the task for each of us is to discern the cross we are meant to carry.  

On any given day, the cross before us may be one we have never encountered before. Chances are, in the nature of crosses, it will involve doing something we would rather avoid, serving someone we would rather not serve.  Maybe if we recall the beautiful words of St. Teresa of Avila, we will find it easier to take up our crosses: “Christ has no body now on earth but yours, no hands but yours, no feet but yours. Yours are the eyes through which Christ’s compassion must look out on the world. Yours are the feet with which He is to go about doing good. Yours are the hands with which He is to bless his people.”

At this season of Thanksgiving, may we be mindful of all of the ways we have been and continue to be blessed by a loving, merciful, and compassionate God.  May we be willing to follow the call of the cross of Christ the King as we seek to serve others and reconcile the whole earth to the unity and peace of God.  May we be thankful for the ultimate gift, a reconciliation purchased by the blood of our Saviour and offered to all those in need of loving kindness.

AMEN.

Repentance and Grace

Homily for Sunday, October 30, 2016             Graves Chapel

Lesson: Luke 19: 1-10  (the story of Zacchaeus)

Collect for today: Almighty and merciful God, it is only by your gift that your faithful people offer you true and laudable service: Grant that we may run without stumbling to obtain your heavenly promises; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.

On two occasions in my life, I have laughed so hard over something I was reading at the time that I fell out of bed.  The first time I was a teenager, reading James Thurber’s comic masterpiece of a memoir, My Life and Hard Times.  “The Get Ready Man” is one of the many eccentric characters Thurber describes; to quote the inimitable Thurber, “The Get Ready Man was a lank, unkempt elderly gentleman with wild eyes and a deep voice who used to go about shouting at people through a megaphone to prepare for the end of the world. ‘Get ready! Get ready!’ he would bellow.  ‘The world is coming to an end.’”  Now, you need to know that the setting of Thurber’s memoir was the Ohio of his youth, in the early part of the 20^th century.  Street corner evangelists who like to warn us that we may be doomed to eternal punishment have been around for a long time in America.

Shortly after my falling-out-of-bed laughing experience with Thurber’s humor, I headed off to Providence, Rhode Island, to attend college. I’d never lived in a city in my entire life up to that point—in fact, I’d barely ever been north of the Mason-Dixon line. Needless to say, I was pretty wide-eyed.  However, when I encountered my college campus’s own version of the Get-Ready man, my Christian upbringing, my upbringing by generous and loving parents, caused me to recoil from his message. The wild-eyed evangelist who always stood on George St. near the gates that opened to our campus green had this to say, very loudly, as he brandished a small book: “Here is a free New Testament for any Jew willing to read it.” When I saw the self-righteous anger in the man’s eyes and thought of my college best friend, a young man of Jewish heritage, I knew that what this angry man preached had nothing to do with the teachings of Jesus of Nazareth.

Just as it stands in bold contrast to the intolerant extremism of the world we inhabit today, the message of Jesus defied the prejudicial intolerance of his own time.  Jesus extended an open hand of love and friendship to everyone he encountered, quite often the very people considered sinful and unworthy by those who believed themselves to be righteous.  Indeed, after Jesus calls out to Zacchaeus in today’s story and invites himself to his home for dinner, we are told, “All who saw it began to grumble and said, ‘He has gone to be the guest of one who is a sinner.’” Why is it that many of us who consider ourselves good people resent the idea that grace can be bestowed on those outside our circle?

When Jesus calls to Zacchaeus, he says, “Hurry and come down; for I must stay at your house today.” “I must stay at your house today.”  Clearly, with those words, the Lord reveals that Zacchaeus is part of his plan. Before Jesus calls out to Zacchaeus, we are told these things: that Zacchaeus “was trying to see who Jesus was,” that “he was a chief tax collector and rich,” that “he was short of stature” and couldn’t see over the crowd.  So, he climbs the sycamore tree, just to get a glimpse of Jesus. How, in that press of crowd, does Jesus know to look up—how is it that he always senses need and longing? Remember the story of the woman with the hemorrhage who also encounters Jesus in a large crowd—and who hopes that, simply by touching the hem of his cloak, she may be healed? Indeed, she is healed by that touch and turns away, but Jesus, perceiving what has happened, calls, “Who touched me?” He wants to meet the one who needed him and sought him out, whose faith extended her hand to the fringe of his cloak—and no further. When she fearfully comes forward to confess, Jesus blesses her again—for her faith.  Even though the woman tried to remain hidden, her longing for healing, goodness, and mercy called out to Jesus.  As Jesus says to those who grumble over his response to Zacchaeus, “Today, salvation has come to this house, for he too is a son of Abraham. For the Son of Man came to seek out and to save the lost.” 

His neighbors revile Zacchaeus and consider him a lost cause because he is a tax collector, in their eyes a stooge for the Roman rulers.  Jesus knows his heart, knows that Zacchaeus can be saved by love. What is the response of Zacchaeus to the generosity expressed by the outstretched hand of the Lord? He says, “Look, half of my possessions, Lord, I will give to the poor; and if I have defrauded anyone of anything, I will pay back four times as much.”  In this case, as in the other cases where we see sinners repent when Jesus reaches out to them, we are not told whether or not Zacchaeus follows through on his promises.  Either we are to assume that he does what he says he will do—or that his promise is enough to show Jesus that he is turning in the right direction, whatever happens next.  The generous grace of the Lord always allows room for human imperfection.

So, what does it really mean to repent? Contemporary evangelists, whether we encounter them on street corners or on television, ask their audience to repent.  “Repent, for the kingdom is at hand” is just another way to say, “Get ready! The world is coming to an end!” I recently came across this definition of repentance by 19^th century Scottish writer and Congregationalist pastor George MacDonald: “What does repent mean? To weep that you have done something wrong? No, that is all very well, but that is not repentance. Is repentance to be vexed with yourself that you have fallen away from your own idea [of a good life]? No, that is not repentance. Turning your back upon the evil thing; pressing on to lay hold of that which Christ laid hold upon you. To repent is to think better of it, to turn away from the evil. No man is ever condemned for the wicked things he has done; he is condemned because he won’t leave them.”

“No man (or woman) is ever condemned for the wicked things he has done; he is condemned because he won’t leave them.”  All of us make mistakes; sometimes those mistakes are calamitous. Often, we make the same mistakes repeatedly. Yet, in his invitation to Zacchaeus, Jesus offers the grace the man needs to turn away from the sins he has committed. In essence, the Lord says to him, “Turn away from the life you have been living. Leave the selfishness of that life behind. Now that you have climbed a tree to see what I have to give you, now that you know there is a better way, your only choice is to leave that old life behind.”  The Lord says to Zacchaeus as he says to all of us, “When you know there is another way, when you reach a point in your life where you realize the way you are living no longer has meaning or value or goodness, then your only choice is to let it go and trust in me. Follow my way instead.” 

To follow the gracious way of the Lord is to let the rule of love guide our behavior. When he truly repented, Zacchaeus found himself so full of gratitude for the Lord’s kindness and mercy that he offered to share half of what he had with the poor.  Will he ever sin again? Probably! He is human and imperfect, as are all of us. I think it’s fair to say that we often genuinely repent, and then we turn around and sin in some new way. Yet we can take heart from the experience of Zacchaeus and trust that our genuine repentance will always reconnect us with God’s mercy. After all, Jesus had a plan for Zacchaeus, a despised tax collector, so surely we can believe He has a plan for us.

I recently came across a passage I had marked some time ago in an old Forward Day by Day, and the words from an unknown writer beautifully express the nature of our relationship with the Lord: “If we are saved it is because of what God believes about us, not what we believe about God. Salvation is not relative. God does not pick ‘the best of us’ out of the barrel and destine us for salvation. God wondrously loves. That is our single asset and hope.”

Forget the internal street corner preacher voices that tell you you are not good enough, that say you are unworthy. I pray that in the days and weeks ahead, if you feel alone or discouraged or just plain tired, you will remember that our gracious and merciful God believes in you and loves you unconditionally.  AMEN.

Lazarus at Our Gate?

Homily for Sunday, September 25,  2016   Graves Chapel

Lessons:

1 Timothy 6:6-19

Luke 16: 19-31

The collect appointed for today:

O God, you declare your almighty power chiefly in showing mercy and pity: Grant us the fullness of your grace, that we, running to obtain your promises, may become partakers of your heavenly treasure; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

Today we revisit Paul’s first letter to Timothy, and we find here some of scripture’s most famous words about the desire for wealth and its perils: “For we brought nothing into the world, and we can take nothing out of it…For the love of money is the root of all kinds of evil.” In his parable, our Savior Jesus, who died as poor as he was born, tells the story of a poor beggar who has come to be known as “Lazarus at the Gate.”  The parables and lessons Jesus teaches sometimes have enough ambiguity, enough nuance, so that they can be interpreted in various ways.  Jesus doesn’t often speak in black and white terms on moral issues, primarily because the focus of his lessons is more likely to be mercy than condemnation. Think of the incident of the woman caught in adultery and brought to Jesus by the Pharisees who expect Jesus to agree with them in their harsh judgment of her. Instead, Jesus challenges them, “You who are without sin, cast the first stone at her.”  The Pharisees slink away, and Jesus says to the woman, “Neither will I condemn you.”  In the story of Lazarus at the gate, however, Jesus is very clear about who will be condemned—and why.  In this story, the rich man doesn’t have a chance.

In my last sermon, I shared Richard Rohr’s explanation of the ways in which scripture suggests over and over again that we human followers of Christ share moral equivalency with God.  By using the term “moral,” Rohr makes clear that we are, of course, in no way equal to God on our own terms; instead, it is God’s expectation of our behavior towards others that places us on a plain of moral equivalency with God. When I treat others as I would have them treat me, I show them God’s love. In becoming God’s face, feet, and hands in the world, we are called to that moral equivalency and asked no less than to seek and serve Christ in all persons—as Christ himself would serve them. 

So how would a world governed by humans living out God’s call to moral equivalency appear?  Wouldn’t such a world truly be God’s Kingdom? Here is the way the prophet Isaiah described it:

“The wolf shall live with the lamb.

  The leopard shall lie down with the kid,

  the calf and the lion cub together,

  and a little child shall lead them.”

Who are the wolves, leopards, and bears in our society, in our world? Are they those who are rich and powerful? Then, who are the lambs, kids, and calves? If Jesus himself, according to this prophecy, is the little child who leads them, how is Jesus childlike?

            Certainly, in the power of his wisdom, in the unyielding courage we see him display over and over again in his defiance of the authorities, Jesus is not a child.  Or, at least, he doesn’t appear to be very child-like. Still, children seem to come into the world with a powerful sense of what is fair or unfair, what is true or false. Think of the tale of The Emperor’s New Clothes and the little boy who speaks the truth about what the emperor is really wearing (or not wearing, in this case.) Any adult who has ever interacted with a child has surely heard the impassioned words, “That is not fair!” Children possess a certain fearlessness on behalf of justice.

            I am reminded of a scene in the beloved novel (and movie), To Kill a Mockingbird. Brave and righteous attorney Atticus Finch takes his pipe, a book, and a lamp to the courthouse in the small town of Maycomb, Alabama. He intends to spend the night outside the jail cell of his client, Tom Robinson, a black man who has been wrongly accused and found guilty of raping a white woman. The scene is set in the 1930s, and Atticus believes some of the white men of that community may come to the jail that night and try to lynch Tom.

As it turns out, Atticus anticipated correctly. A mob of men arrives in the middle of the night, doing that thing that mobs do best: turning ordinary decent people into ravening beasts. All it takes is one or two forceful leaders to spew hatred and to challenge the manhood of their followers, and a mob is born.

            But what Atticus did not anticipate, and certainly did not want, was to have his young children appear on the scene. Jem, his son, and Scout, his daughter, along with their friend Dill, decide it is their job to help their father. They have no idea what is about to happen; they simply know, in that instinctive way of children, that Atticus may need them.

            When Scout and Jem and Dill arrive on the square, they find Atticus holding firm outside the jailhouse door, trying to reason with the menacing leaders of the mob. Scout, without considering the risks, weaves herself through the crowd and stands next to her father. Having lived all of her young life in this little town, she is puzzled to see men she knows behaving in such a mean way. And Scout does that thing that Jesus does best when he wants to get our attention: she calls the men by name. With the innocent honesty of a little girl, she asks them what they are doing. She speaks directly to the father of one of her classmates, asking him to say “hey” to his little boy for her. In this way, the men of that mob become individuals again. Each one becomes himself again, aware of his responsibilities, and the mob silently disperses.

            Scout has become the little lamb who leads them, with innocent courage and a childlike desire for fairness—for what is right.  Like all children, Scout possesses no power. She certainly is no king or potentate or warrior—or, for that matter, wolf, leopard, bear, or lion.  Like Jesus, and like her father, Scout is on the side of the poor, the defenseless, the downtrodden.

            The poor man in today’s parable spends most of his time begging next to the gate of a rich man’s property. Like the courthouse doorway being guarded by Atticus Finch, the gate in this parable represents the barrier between two arenas: unjust power on one side and deserving poverty on the other. We are told several things about the rich man: that he dresses in purple and fine linen, that he feasts sumptuously every day, that he has five equally wealthy and corrupt brothers. But we are never told his name.  In this story, only the poor beggar covered in sores is given a name: Lazarus.  Consider! In the telling of this parable, Jesus refuses to dignify the rich man with a name, but he gives the name Lazarus, a name we know in another context as being the name of one of his best friends, to a beggar whose sores are licked by dogs. In the world we live in today (and, to be fair, in past generations), rich and powerful people are known and revered by name.  Even in Jesus’s time, people like the beggar Lazarus were considered members of a nameless throng, the countless, wretched, and powerless poor. I guess when we see them in that way, they are easier for us to ignore. But in this parable, Jesus clearly illustrates who is more important in God’s kingdom. When he dies, Lazarus is carried to heaven by angels and is comforted. The rich man, who never helped Lazarus while he had the opportunity, dies and goes straight to hell. 

          With the kind of audacity possessed by people who have always had things their way, the nameless rich man asks Father Abraham to send Lazarus to him with some water.  Abraham refuses, explaining that in the Kingdom things just don’t work that way. Then the rich man wants Abraham to send Lazarus to his father’s house to warn his family members about what is in store for them if they keep hording their wealth, arguing when Abraham objects that his brothers will surely believe a risen dead man—the beggar Lazarus, in this case. In telling this parable, Jesus clearly reminds us, as he reminds the deceased rich man, “If they do not listen to Moses and the prophets, neither will they be convinced, even if someone rises from the dead.”

            Could there be a double meaning for us in those last words of the parable?  Have we really been convinced by our risen Lord that serving Him is more important than serving our own self-interest? Or have we forsaken our Christian moral responsibility to seek and serve the Lord in ALL persons?  If we need a reminder of how our responsibility plays itself out in the real world, we need look no further than Paul’s letter to Timothy:  “As for those who in the present age are rich, command them not to be haughty, or to set their hopes on the uncertainty of riches, but rather on God who richly provides us with everything for our enjoyment. They are to do good, to be rich in good works, generous, and ready to share, thus storing up for themselves the treasure of a good foundation for the future, so that they may take hold of the life that really is life.”

The collect for today states, “O God, you declare your almighty power chiefly in showing mercy and pity.”  Poor Lazarus found the mercy and pity he had always deserved when he arrived in heaven.  May we discover such abundant mercy on this side of the heavenly gate as we love all others just as Christ has loved us and take hold of the life that really is LIFE. 

AMEN.

Humility

Homily for August 28, 2016            Graves Chapel

  

Who does he think he is?  He hangs around with all the worst sorts of trashy people. Just get a look at those friends of his.  Fishermen and tax collectors, women with bad reputations.  Just who does he think he is? I’ve heard his father is a carpenter. A carpenter of all things! And there is also that story going around about his mother being in a family way before she married his father. Who does he think he is? Just the other day, he said that a bartender—a bartender—knows how to pray better than I do.  Where does he get the nerve to lord it over me—my family has always been of high social standing! I have studied with all of the first-rate scholars, and he never went to college. I know my scripture forwards and backwards, and yet he has the nerve to correct my teaching. Just who in the heck does he think he is?

Like the Pharisee, we may ask such questions.  Why did God, the Lord of the Universe, decide to send his own Son, the long-awaited Messiah, into the world in such a humble way?  Why, of all things, did he have to be born in a stable, have a manger for his first bed? Why did he have to grow up in a poor family and be executed in such a demeaning way, hanging on a cross between two thieves?  In some ways these are the most fundamental questions all of us should ask about Jesus. God certainly could have sent Jesus as a king if he chose.  The great king, the one God clearly loved and blessed and forgave over and over, King David, could have returned to rule his people. God can do that kind of thing, after all. The prophecies about the Messiah all said that he would be a descendant of David and would come to rule his people. It is no wonder that the Pharisees were perplexed to find the son of a carpenter preaching with such authority.  He defied their understanding of propriety.

If you have heard me preach before—and some of you have kindly listened to many of my sermons—you have probably noticed that I often speak about LOVE. I admit that the Lord’s admonition to us to love our neighbors as ourselves is my favorite Biblical theme. Since Jesus called this the second part of the “Great Commandment,” connecting our requirement to love each other to the rule that we should love the Lord our God with all our heart, soul, and mind, then my conclusion that LOVE is of the utmost importance seems correct.

The lessons for today, from Hebrews and Luke, suggest that only humility makes it possible for us to express Christ-like love in a way that makes it acceptable to the ones we love.  If we love others from a position of equality with them, and not authority over them, they find it easier to accept the love we offer.

Jesus says in Luke 14, “For all who exalt themselves will be humbled, and all who humble themselves will be exalted.”  How and why do we find ourselves in situations where we “exalt” ourselves?  Ahh…one of those questions (and indictments from Jesus) that makes me squirm.  Sometimes I just need to be able to feel good about myself.  Life can throw a lot of things at us, after all, that can make us feel very low. I don’t think I am the only one who has suffered wounds to my ego from time to time, and wounded egos need reassurance. We want to know that we are okay, that others believe us to be respectable. Isn’t it lucky for us that Jesus has been there, too? Jesus understands that our wounded ego wants to be seated at the head of the table, that it can be hard for us to accept a lower position. But Jesus also understands that, in the long run, we will feel better about ourselves when we manage to be humble.  I wonder if that is why Jesus was thirty years old when he finally began his ministry—old enough and wise enough to have experienced many wounds to his ego and to understand the necessity of putting our egos—ourselves—last.

The mystery of humility is the way we are actually blessed by it. Beloved priest and theologian Henri Nouwen had these words to say about today’s lesson from Luke: “The poor have a treasure to offer precisely because they cannot return our favors. By not paying us for what we have done for them, they call us to inner freedom, selflessness, generosity, and true care. Jesus says, ‘When you have a party, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind: then you will be blessed, for they have no means to repay you, and so you will be repaid when the upright rise again.’  The repayment Jesus speaks of is spiritual. It is the joy, peace and love of God that we so much desire. This is what the poor give us, not only in the afterlife, but already in the here and now.”

Love is a spiritual gift because it is intangible. Love is both an emotion and a behavior, something we know when we encounter it, but cannot really define. Love for one another is required from us by a God who embodies love.  But it is humility that provides the stance, the posture, from which love is properly extended to others. When someone says, “I love you,” from a position of power, out of a need to control us, does it feel like love? When an act of charity is performed, say of giving a few dollars to a beggar, and it is made from an attitude of condescension, does it feel like love to that poor beggar?  I quite often hear complaints about the “attitude” of a homeless person, and I wonder if the offending attitude may have begun in the manner the gift was offered. Maybe, maybe not. Either way, Jesus tells us that our job is to govern our own behavior with humility and not concern ourselves with the behavior or attitudes of others.  As the writer of Hebrews says in today’s lesson, “Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that, some have entertained angels without knowing it.”  Wouldn’t it be just like God to send us a grumpy and unappreciative angel to test our willingness to be generous—and humble?

On the evening of the Last Supper, when Jesus gathered all of his disciples together for the Passover, the very last time he would have an opportunity to be with them before his death, he illustrated to them the true importance of humble service to others. It was a lesson the disciples found very disconcerting. Jesus knelt before each one of them and washed his feet. To the disciples, it seemed very wrong for their Lord and master to perform what seemed to them to be a humiliating task. That was precisely the Lord’s lesson for them—and for us. Jesus wanted all of his disciples to understand that humility and humiliation are two very different things. An act of love, performed in true humility, makes all involved feel whole and worthy. An act of humiliation is something done to us by another who behaves toward us as our superior and who wants to make us feel inferior. Humiliation wounds our ego—and that is its purpose.

To return to my earlier supposition, then, is it true that only humility on our part makes it possible for someone to accept the love we offer?  I believe so. Love of this kind is love exchanged between equals. We call this kind of love unconditional.  Sometimes we say that only God is capable of unconditional love. Only God can put up with the bad behavior of humans and still love them. God is clearly the expert, but God also asks us to emulate his love.

Our trying to be like God, to love in God’s unconditional manner, sounds like an impossible requirement.  Richard Rohr explains the radical nature of God’s expectations of us by showing how scripture teaches us what he calls “four moral equivalencies.”  Rohr says that the first of these is the moral equivalency Jesus makes between himself and other humans: “Whatever you do to others, you do to me” (Matthew 25:40). The second moral equivalency, according to Rohr, is the one Jesus makes between himself and God: “I and the Father are one” (John 10:30).  The third moral equivalency is the one between any person and God: “The Spirit is within you” (John 14:17). Throughout the Gospels and on his final departing, Jesus promises the eternal presence of the Advocate, the Holy Spirit, within each individual. The fourth and final moral equivalency, then, is the one Jesus makes between any one of us and every other person: Jesus tells us, “In everything you do, treat others exactly as you would have them treat you” (Matthew 7:12).

Accepting that, in God’s terms, we are equal to every other human being, even those we dislike, requires humility. In God’s eyes, we are no more and no less worthy than any of our neighbors. Accepting that God the Holy Spirit dwells equally within each of us is both reassuring and challenging—and also humbling. We are called to recognize that the indwelling Spirit of God extends love to others primarily through us, through our actions. Accepting that we are God’s hands and feet on this planet, that we are required (as today’s beautiful collect says) to bring forth the fruit of good works calls us to humble service.

The four “moral equivalencies” define unconditional love. In any mathematical equation, an “equals” sign offers the guidepost.  Whatever we place to the left of that symbol must be, in some way, exactly the same as whatever we place to its right. How can this be possible when we say we are equal to each other, equal to Jesus, equal to God?  I guess the answer to that question can only be—with great love and great humility. 

In every equation of human moral behavior, the grace of God is the equalizer.  On that we can put our faith.  AMEN.

Salvation?

Homily for Sunday, July 31, 2016

Salvation.  When you hear that word, what first comes to mind?  For Christians in general, do you think the most basic understanding of salvation is that of being saved from our sins, through our faith in Jesus Christ?  For this reason, we speak of Jesus Christ as our Saviour.  We abide in the hope that if we are faithful Christians, our sins will be forgiven and we will be rewarded by an afterlife in heaven.  May I please ask you to consider a larger frame of reference for the concept of salvation?

The disciples who followed Jesus, as Peter pronounced, believed him to be the Messiah, “the Son of the Living God.” As religious Jews, Peter and his companions would have believed these things about the long-awaited Messiah: That he would be descended from King David. That he would come to unify the tribes of Israel. That he would come to save them from their oppressors. That he would usher in an age of global universal peace. On this list of Messianic attributes, the word save is used only in reference to the Messiah saving his people from their oppressors. How did we get to our current understanding that the Saviour came to save us from our sins?  In Joseph’s dream about the baby Mary carries, the angel appears to him and says, “She will bear a son, and you are to name him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins.” Does our gospel lesson for today give us a way to connect the angel’s message about Jesus—that his role would be to save sinners—to the Hebrew prophecy of the Messiah’s charge to save his people from their oppressors?  Maybe the two ideas are not mutually exclusive. 

Consider today’s lesson from the Gospel of Luke. Listen to what Jesus says to the crowd in this parable about the rich man and his barns: “The land of a rich man produced abundantly. And he thought to himself, ‘What should I do, for I have no place to store my crops?’ Then he said, ‘I will do this: I will pull down my barns and build larger ones, and there I will store all my grain and my goods. And I will say to my soul, “Soul, you have ample goods laid up for many years; relax, eat, drink, and be merry.”’ But God said to him, ‘You fool! This very night your life is demanded of you. And the things you have prepared, whose will they be?’ So it is with those who store up treasures for themselves but are not rich toward God.” 

Wealth—and being “rich toward God”: how do we balance those two contrary things?  This parable and the one about a rich man having as hard a time getting into heaven as a camel would have passing through the eye of a needle may give pause to those of us who live relatively wealthy and comfortable lives simply by virtue of being American.  (I think that means all of us!)  How are we supposed to be “rich toward God”?

One other thing believed by Jews about their Messiah—he would be the king of God’s kingdom on earth. Jesus acknowledges this aspect of his Lordship when, on many occasions, he says, “The kingdom is at hand” or “the kingdom has come near.” All people come within the wide embrace of his kingdom—God’s kingdom on earth. As Jesus preaches so forcefully in Matthew 25, “And the king will answer them, ‘Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.”  Being rich toward God means being rich toward God’s people.  When the rich man planned to build larger barns so he would have enough room to store the excess of his crops and his goods, he hoarded what he could have shared.  He chose to live outside God’s kingdom on earth—a kingdom of love and shared blessings.

Yes, Jesus the Messiah came to save us from our oppressors. What oppresses us more personally than our very own sinfulness? As we see in the example of the rich man and his hoarding, selfishness and self-centered pride may very well be the original sin underlying all others.  Jesus has shown us how to live in such a way that we can be relieved of the sinful burden of self-centeredness. Trying to be well-behaved when we are ready to behave is not something we do in expectation of a life to come, as the rich man hoped.  Even St. Augustine, before his full conversion, prayed, “Lord, let me be pure—but not yet.” The rich man gambled his soul so that he could continue to “eat, drink, and be merry” as long as he had the means to do so. Living in the kingdom means being part of a loving family right now, following God’s way as we provide water for our neighbors who are thirsty and food for those who are hungry; clothing for the naked and healing care for the sick; mercy and justice for those in prison. These are the ones some may consider the least in God’s kingdom—but Jesus puts them first.

Remember the verses that we have come to know as the beatitudes?  Jesus welcomes those who most need his love and mercy into a kingdom of heaven that exists right here, right now. “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven; blessed are those who mourn; blessed are the meek; blessed are the merciful; blessed are the pure in heart; blessed are the peacemakers.”  By way of humility, kindness, generosity, and love, we are expected to bring God’s kingdom of universal peace to the world we now inhabit. Having followed his Way in the present kingdom, we will have no trouble making the transition to the larger Kingdom that awaits us.  

Salvation, then, is not so much meant to be something we seek for ourselves, but rather something we share with our neighbors.  Every human being is created in the image of God, and we are called to seek and serve the Lord in each other. As Jesus asked the rich man, and as he asks us, “And the things you have prepared—whose will they be?”  Clearly, the answer Jesus expects is “Someone other than myself.”

Eight centuries before the birth of Jesus, the prophet Isaiah pondered the role of the Messiah.  He gave us these beautiful words, as from the mouth of God the Father, to express the wideness of the coming kingdom:

“It is too light a thing that you should be my servant to raise up the tribes of Jacob and restore the survivors of Israel; I will give you as a light to the nations, that my salvation may reach to the end of the earth.”

Yes, it is too light a thing to think we were created just for our own individual purposes. Susan Dente, a Franciscan nun, said, “Because we are made in God’s image, each of us is another promise to the universe that God will continue to love and care for it.”

We pray that we can do our part in service to this planet and all its inhabitants, fulfilling the promise of Creation. And as we find our salvation in serving others, may we help to establish the Savior’s kingdom of light, love, generosity, kindness and peace.  AMEN.

Casting Stones

Homily for Sunday, June 26, 2016    

            “The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.”  [Paul’s words in Galatians 5: 22.]

“Do not judge, and you will not be judged. Do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven.”  These are the words of Jesus [in Luke 6: 37].

            When asked how many times we should forgive our brother—our fellow human being—Jesus responded, “Seventy times seven.”

            When the woman caught in adultery was brought to Jesus by the authorities, scribes and Pharisees who hoped to prove this prophet of Nazareth to be a hoax, they challenged him: “The Law of Moses commanded us to stone such women. Now what do you say?” [John 8: 4-11] Even though surrounded by a crowd of people and authorities who had stones in their hands, Jesus had the courage to stand up to the would-be executioners. Jesus said to them, “ ‘Let anyone among you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone at her.’ When they heard it, they went away, one by one.”

            We live in a wonderful country, where people are protected by laws that promise them due process, trial by jury, and a status of innocence until proven guilty. We live in a country that is predominantly Christian—and often proud of it. Our judges are selected for their wisdom, and the penalties we assign in due process are intended to match the gravity of the crimes committed. Capital punishment exists in many states, but it is reserved for the worst of crimes—murder. Since we can trust in the rule of law and our judicial system, we are not called to take the law into our own hands.

The men who brought the adulterous woman to Jesus not only took the law into their hands, judging her to be guilty of a sin worthy of capital punishment, but they also were prepared to be her executioners. The challenge Jesus made to the authorities is a challenge He makes to us:  “You who are without sin, cast the first stone.” 

            Unfortunately, as much as we have a long and beautiful history of generosity, patience, kindness, and justice, we Americans also have a long history of throwing stones.

America, our beloved country, has used Christianity itself at times as a basis for accusing, judging, and condemning people. Some of the early and very striking examples occurred in Massachusetts.  As a nation, we enjoy our celebration of Thanksgiving every November, and when we are children, we may draw images of the Pilgrims sitting down to a bountiful table with their Native American neighbors.  The Pilgrims came to this country for religious freedom, to found a Christian community. They also helped to found a largely Christian country.  As we honor the Pilgrims, we often forget how they slaughtered most of their native American neighbors, the very people whose kindness had helped to keep them fed and alive during their first harsh winters on this continent. Why?  The Pilgrims considered the Native Americans to be infidels who stood in the way of their conquest of the land God wanted them to possess.

            We also forget the witch trials that centered around Salem, Massachusetts, in the late 1600s.  If you read a history of the witch trials, the term “mass hysteria” is often used to describe what happened, but few historians can offer a reasonable explanation for HOW it happened.  Remember, the Pilgrims (also known as Puritans) were part of a very strict Christian sect that believed in predestination.  According to their beliefs, only a select few of their own number would be among those chosen for the rewards of heaven; the rest would be condemned to hell (along with the Natives).  They believed that those who were chosen would demonstrate their worthiness by good behavior. Beginning from that basic premise, it became an easy matter (and a desirable thing since it improves one’s own odds) to accuse others of sinful behavior and consign them to Hell.

            Those first accused of witchcraft were those perceived to be the obvious sinners among the Puritan community: the habitual drunks, women who had children out of wedlock. Then, when some of the wiser and more compassionate members of the community objected to the accusations that such people were witches, they were also accused of witchcraft.  The only way to avoid execution was to admit your guilt and sign a document stating you were a witch. Some of the 200 people accused did sign such a statement, but many, who were true to their Christian faith and would not sign a lie, were executed. In all, 200 people were accused. Twenty were executed. Awaiting execution, five, including children, died in prison.

            In subsequent years, history revealed that some of the accusations were most likely made out of greed or resentment—an accuser wanting a piece of land that belonged to someone else or resenting the prosperity or status of a neighbor.  No matter what the motivation behind these accusations, all were made in the name of Jesus Christ.  Somehow, the oft-repeated command made by our Savior—“Do not judge, so that you may not be judged”—was conveniently overlooked by the Puritans.  They judged the everyday sins of ordinary people—public drunkenness, the pregnancy of an unmarried woman—as offenses worthy of capital punishment.

How Jesus must have wept!  Our Savior died a humiliating death by execution, and like the executions of the Salem witches, his death was completely unjustified. The purpose of his death was to end death. As Christians, we believe that Jesus died so that we, as sinful and selfish as we may be, do not have to fear death.  Trusting in Jesus, we have faith that our sins—and the sins of our brothers and sisters—are forgiven. Our Lord promises mercy to all.

I have had all these things on my mind since June 12^th. On that day, we awoke to learn of another horrible mass shooting in this country. In Orlando, Florida, forty-nine mostly young men and women were gunned down at a nightclub.  The shooter, an American-born Muslim citizen, seems to have had many of his own issues. He judged the people gathered in the Pulse nightclub to be sinners worthy of execution, and he killed them. But Omar Mateen is not the subject of this sermon. 

On the evening of June 12^th, at a Baptist church service in Sacramento, California, a preacher stood in his pulpit and said these words to his congregation: “Aren’t you sad that 50 sodomites died? …The tragedy is that more of them didn’t die. The tragedy is…I’m kinda upset that he didn’t finish the job!” He went on to say, “If we lived in a righteous nation, with a righteous government, then the government should be taking them…I wish the government would round them all up, put them up against the firing wall, put a firing squad in front of them…”

I really do not have the heart to quote any more of the hate-filled words of this so-called Christian pastor.  I do know, without uncertainty, that the Lord who forgives seventy time seven, the Lord who himself suffered the painful horror of capital punishment, would never condemn anyone to death for his or her perceived sinfulness. This California pastor took it upon himself to judge as sinners the 49 who were slaughtered in the Pulse nightclub. Like the scribes and Pharisees who brought the woman caught in adultery before Jesus, this pastor believed that those he considered to be sinners should be executed.

           I am not here to address the issue of homosexuality. I know there is wide disagreement among Christians about that issue, although I am glad most Americans demonstrate acceptance and tolerance for members of the LBGT community. What I do want to say is that our Lord and Savior would never condone the mass execution of any group of people. He would not condone any kind of intolerance. He would not condone any behavior other than mercy on the part of a self-proclaimed Christian. Jesus said there were only two commandments his followers needed to know: Love the Lord your God with all your heart, and love your neighbor as you love yourself.

           In each of these commandments, the word love is a verb. To love is to act in a specific way. Love is a behavior—not just a feeling or a thought or an idea. Love is only truly expressed through our actions. We are not called to cast a stone, either by our hands or by our thoughts. We are called to lay down our stones, remembering our own sinfulness and need for mercy. We lay down our stones as an act of love—and obedience to Jesus. As Paul wrote in his letter to the Galatians, “The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.” 

May our all of our actions illustrate the way we bear these fruits of the Spirit on behalf of our Lord and his Kingdom. 

AMEN.

The Authority of Love

Homily for Sunday, May 29, 2016     Graves Chapel

The rhythm of the church year has taken us from Lent into Easter and now into the season after Pentecost.  The Lord has been crucified, has resurrected, and has ascended to the life of the greater kingdom.  In our walk of faith, we journey with Him.

In the last chapter of the gospel of Matthew, in the gospel’s last verses, the risen Lord appears in Galilee to the astonished disciples. He says to them, “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me.”  From that position of authority, the Lord tells the disciples, “Go therefore and make disciples of all nations baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit…And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age.”

In today’s lesson from Luke, the centurion also speaks of authority. What is authority? When Jesus says he has been given “all authority on heaven and on earth,” how do we Christians understand these words?  Since this is the resurrected Lord speaking, do we recognize that he speaks out of his union with God and the spirit, as member of the Trinity? Now that his span of time living as a human being on earth, among humans, has ended, Jesus reveals himself to his disciples as the face of the eternal God. His parting words to his disciples are words of comfort: “Remember, I am with you always.”

That statement must have bewildered the disciples, as it often bewilders us, the present-day disciples of the Lord.  How do we overcome our sense of distance from the Lord, in spite of his promise to be with us always?  We learn to recognize the voice of the Holy Spirit, which speaks to us most intimately with words of comfort and guidance. Many, many generations of Christians have encountered the Spirit dwelling in that part of us which we call our soul, that part of us which seems to occupy a space very near our hearts.

In his parting words to the disciples, Jesus clearly connects these two ideas: the authority of God and the way God shares his authority with us through the Spirit that dwells in our soul, in our very heart. God’s authority is one that seeks what is best for his people.

In today’s lesson from Luke, we return to the years of the ministry of Jesus on earth, to the story of the Lord’s encounter with the Roman centurion, truly a man of authority.  This is the only story we are told, in all of the gospels, in which Jesus is said to be amazed by someone’s faith. In fact, he turns to those around him, presumably his disciples, and says, “I tell you, not even in Israel have I found such faith.”  By this point in his ministry, Jesus has encountered throngs of people and healed many of them. Some elders who have heard of Jesus, friends of this centurion, tell him that Jesus can heal his “highly valued slave” who is gravely ill.  The centurion sends these Jewish elders to Jesus, and they tell the Lord what a good man the centurion is, what a good friend he has been to the Jews, how he had built their synagogue for them. Accordingly, Jesus follows them to the centurion’s house. Before he can even arrive, the centurion sends another message by a friend.  This friend relays these words of the centurion: “Lord, do not trouble yourself, for I am not worthy to have you come under my roof; therefore, I did not presume to come to you. But only speak the word and let my servant be healed. For I am also a man under authority, with soldiers under me; and I say ‘Go,’ to one, and he goes, and to another, ‘Come,’ and he comes.”

Please consider with me why Jesus is said to be amazed, why the faith of this centurion astonishes him. First, we should understand that centurion was the only term for a professional officer in the Roman army. This centurion commanded at least one hundred soldiers, but he may also have had other “centuries” (or groups of a hundred soldiers) in his command. He was most likely the highest ranking official in Capernaum, where this story takes place.

If you are Jesus--a poor Galilean, a carpenter, an itinerant preacher—how would you react to having a high-ranking Roman official send you a message that begins with the words, “Lord, do not trouble yourself, for I am not worthy to have you come under my roof.” If you are Jesus, you have traveled throughout Palestine and many people have come to believe in you and follow you, but many more have not. How do you explain the immediate faith of a Roman official, who has only heard about you through some of your followers? What does the centurion’s expression of deep humility—“Lord, I am not worthy to have you come under my roof”—tell you about this man?

Jesus listens to the entire message from the centurion before he expresses his amazement. What the centurion says about the relationship of authority to obedience may be the key to understanding his humility. Before he mentions the power he possesses to give orders to other men, the centurion says, “For I also am a man set under authority.” In this simple statement, the centurion acknowledges that any power he exerts is derived from his service to the emperor—he is set under authority.  Somehow, simply from hearing stories about the miraculous healings Jesus has performed, the centurion has recognized two significant things: first, that Jesus has been given the authority to perform miracles, and second, that his authority must be derived from a divine source—surpassing even the power of the emperor. Why else would a centurion say that he, a high-ranking Roman official, is not worthy to have Jesus come under his roof?  No wonder Jesus is amazed—and is pleased to reward the centurion’s faith by healing his servant, as he requested, from a distance.

But, as someone under authority himself, the centurion also fully realizes that for authority to be effective, then the humble and willing obedience of those under authority is also required.  Cruel, unwise, or capricious authority will never succeed in the long run. Might it be that the centurion, as a wise and caring leader, understood that helping the people of Capernaum build their temple would also allow him to maintain good relationships with them?  Remember, when the elders first tell Jesus about the centurion, they say, “He is worthy of having you do this for him, for he loves our people.”  Well-exercised authority desires what is best for those it serves.

Authority. When we hear that word, the first synonym that probably comes to mind is power, not service.  Interestingly, the word authority clearly has its derivation from author, and we think of an author as one who writes or one who creates. God our creator, the one whose supreme authority the centurion recognizes in Jesus, is also, at times, an author.

In Exodus 24:12, God says to Moses, “Come up to me on the mountain, and I will give you the tablets of stone, with the law and the commandments, which I have written for their instruction.” Later, after Moses has stayed a long time on Mt. Sinai, we are told in Exodus 31:18, “When God finished speaking with Moses, he gave him the two tablets of the covenant, written with the finger of God.” I believe most of us remember what happened to those tablets as well as to the people for whom the laws were composed by God. The tablets were broken in anger, and over the long history of God’s people, including us Christians, God’s laws have been broken repeatedly. Such can be the reaction of human nature to any kind of authority!

Later, the prophets tell us, God chose new ways to express his authority. When the covenant written in stone did not have the desired effect, God spoke these words through Jeremiah: “I will put my law within them, and I will write it on their hearts; and I will be their Lord, and they shall be my people.” (Jeremiah 31:33) God understands that his authorship of the laws, his authority, must live within the people, written on their very hearts, to be effective. Their willing obedience to His laws must come from their trust in his love for them. In Proverbs 7, we hear the words of a loving father—God—to his children: “My child, keep my words and store up my commandments with you. Keep my commandments and live. Write them on the tablet of your heart.”

In our evolving understanding of God, and through the mediation of our Lord Jesus Christ and the Holy Spirit, we now encounter a God who expresses his authority primarily through love and compassion. Jesus echoes the prophetic message of writing God’s words on our hearts when he says, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your mind, and with all your soul. This is the greatest and the first commandment. And a second is like it: You shall love your neighbor as yourself.”

In Jesus, the centurion recognized someone who possessed the authority of God. And how was that authority demonstrated in a way that convinced even a Roman official? Having heard stories of the miraculous healings wrought by Jesus, the centurion believed Jesus could heal his servant. By the power of love, straight from the heart of God, the servant WAS healed.

Like the centurion, may we, who also hear stories of the miraculous love of Jesus Christ, believe in our hearts that Jesus loves us and is always with us, as he promised his disciples.  May we have faith in the divine authority, an authority always tempered by mercy, and serve the Lord in glad obedience.  AMEN.