Graves Chapel

On Being Humble

2011-12-28T16:19:00.000-08:00

Homily for Sunday, October 30, 2011

Lessons:
Joshua 3:7-17
Psalm 107: 1-7, 33-37
1 Thessalonians 2:9-13
Matthew 23:1-12

You may be familiar with the work of T Bone Burnett if you are a fan of the soundtrack of the movie O Brother, Where Art Thou. Not only is T Bone a successful producer of popular recordings, but he is also a gifted singer-songwriter as well. In one of his songs, he has this to say about humility: “As soon as you think you’re being humble, you’re no longer humble.” Achieving humility is a really tricky thing, as T Bone tells us. It is also an attitude and a behavior required of Christians and modeled for us by Jesus. I’ve heard humility defined as “being in a proper relationship with God, acknowledging that all of our goodness comes from Him.” Every gift we possess and any righteous act we perform originates with the Lord. As today’s collect says, “It is only by your gift, Lord, that your faithful people offer you true and laudable service.” Pride, therefore, has no place in the Christian heart.

In the Old Testament lesson, God enables Joshua to put on a big show, as He had done with Joshua’s predecessor Moses. Joshua is to prove his power and leadership ability to the people by parting the Jordon River and making a dry path for the people to cross over, as Moses had done with the Red Sea. God stops the flowing of the river and Joshua says, “By this you shall know that among you is the living God who without fail will drive out from before you the Canaanites, Hittites, Hivites, Perizzites, Girgashites, Amorites, and Jebusites: the ark of the covenant of the Lord of all the earth is going to pass before you into the Jordan. So now select twelve men from the tribes of Israel, one from each tribe. When the soles of the feet of the priests who bear the ark of the LORD, the Lord of all the earth, rest in the waters of the Jordan, the waters of the Jordan flowing from above shall be cut off; they shall stand in a single heap.” Note that Joshua doesn’t claim this power for himself; he gives all the credit to the Lord, who had told him, “This day I will begin to exalt you in the sight of all Israel, so that they may know that I will be with you as I was with Moses.” If there is any exalting to be done, God does it. Still, when you have been exalted by God, as were Joshua and Moses, it must be difficult not to want to flaunt your power just a little bit. Indeed, Moses struck the rock at Meribah to release the water for the people without calling on the Lord first—as if the power to bring forth the water was his alone. For that one prideful act, God barred Moses from entering the Promised land with the people.

In his letter to the Thessalonians, Paul seems to be succumbing to another form of human pridefulness: self-righteousness. He says, “You remember our labor and toil, brothers and sisters; we worked night and day, so that we might not burden any of you while we proclaimed to you the gospel of God. You are witnesses, and God also, how pure, upright, and blameless our conduct was toward you believers.” Isn’t there a definite whiny tone to that speech? I have to admit here that self-righteousness is a sin way too familiar to me. I find it very hard to try to be good every day and not give in to feeling superior about it, particularly when there seem to be a lot of people out there who don’t even try. Paul, who suffered punishment and imprisonment for his faith and good works, may feel justified in claiming his righteousness, but he ultimately does not give in to it: he rightly gives God the credit and gratitude for his accomplishments when he says, “We also constantly give thanks to God for this, that when you received the word of God that you heard from us, you accepted it not as a human word but as what it really is, God's word, which is also at work in you believers.”

Paul’s case is a useful one to consider as we examine the sin of pride. Once a well-respected Pharisee and persecutor of Christians, Paul was a man motivated by deeply-held convictions and proud of his work. Only sudden blindness and the sound of the Lord’s voice speaking to him could radically change the course of his life and cause him to join the church he had once set out to destroy. Other than by God’s grace, how could Paul have integrated two such disparate versions of himself? How did the new Paul forgive the old one? Only by grace must be the answer.

Pride, classically known as hubris, is said to be at the root of all sin. Had they not wanted to be like God, knowing what he knew, Adam and Eve would not have eaten the forbidden fruit. Theirs was the original example of pride “coming before a fall.” But I think there is something else underlying human pride that we ought to contemplate. Don’t all of us experience things that wound our egos? From being called ugly names as a child to suffering rejection as an adult, we can probably all name a time when our pride was deeply wounded, when we felt shamed in some way. Our wounded egos need a little pride to bolster them, and we may have felt we had to exalt ourselves in some way. It’s painful to be humble when we’ve experienced humiliation. On the other hand, even false humility (“Oh, this old dress—I just wear it when I don’t care how I look”) is truly egotistical. How do we navigate the treacherous waters separating pride from humility? As old T Bone said, “As soon as you think you’re being humble, you’re no longer humble.”

In today’s gospel, Jesus uses the example of the hypocrisy of the Pharisees to make a point about pride. He says they do not practice what they teach, that they do all their deeds to be seen by others. The Pharisees are very concerned about their outward appearance, the trappings of pride, making “their phylacteries long and their fringes wide.” But Jesus does not tell his followers to disrespect or judge the scribes and Pharisees; in fact, he says, “The scribes and the Pharisees sit on Moses' seat; therefore, do whatever they teach you and follow it.” No, Jesus tells his followers to be aware of the damning pride of the Pharisees and to remember that humility will be the source of their security and their future reward: “All who exalt themselves will be humbled, and all who humble themselves will be exalted."

So, it seems that humility is really about being so comfortable in our own skin that the pride (or just plain bad behavior) of others doesn’t affect us. Trusting completely in God’s love for us, our wounded egos can be healed. Knowing that it is only by God’s grace, as Paul did, that we can call ourselves either righteous or humble, we can let go of self-consciousness. It isn’t our job to make ourselves look good. Only God can accomplish that for us!

In this season, with All Hallow’s Eve approaching and All Saints Day to follow, I was thinking of the saints as I wrote this homily. I don’t think anyone makes it to sainthood without possessing a good measure of humility. Knowing themselves as both indebted to and connected to God was fundamental for the saints. I like to imagine them living most of their days, anyway, with such strong conviction of their faith that they experienced true inner peace. Maybe that is what is meant by this lovely quotation on humility: "Humility is perpetual quietness of heart. It is to have no trouble. It is never to be fretted or vexed, or irritable, to wonder at nothing that is done to me, to feel nothing that is done against me. It is to be at rest when nobody praises me, and when I am blamed or despised, it is to have a blessed home in myself where I can go in and shut the door and kneel to my Father in secret and be at peace, as in a deep sea of calmness, when all around and about is seeming trouble.”

We can remember the words of Isaiah 57:15: “Thus says the high and lofty one who inhabits eternity, whose name is holy, ‘I dwell in the high and holy place and also with the one who has a contrite and humble spirit, to revive the spirit of the humble and to revive the heart of the contrite.’” When we are content to inhabit our own inner space, the Spirit is pleased to join us there—and to exalt us when the time is right.

The Work of Kindness

2011-08-29T17:27:00.000-07:00

Homily for Sunday, August 28, 2011

Lessons:

Exodus 3:1-15
Psalm 105: 1-6, 23-26, 45c
Romans 12:9-21 [Broadman Hymnal responsive reading #551]
Matthew 16:21-28

We have work to do! The collect for today reminds us of that and provides a rubric for the way God enables us to work: “Lord of all power and might, the author and giver of all good things: Graft in our hearts the love of your name; increase in us true religion; nourish us with all goodness; and bring forth in us the fruit of good works.” I’m reminded of the steps we take as gardeners: we tend the soil, adding improvements to it; we plant the seeds, then water and fertilize them; then, if we’ve done our part, the fruits of our labors come naturally. As God “increases in us true religion and nourishes us with all goodness,” out of gratitude and peace of mind, we bring forth the desired good fruits.

In his epistle to the Romans, Paul tells us what some of these fruits are supposed to be, and they don’t involve especially hard labor: “Love one another with mutual affection; outdo one another in showing honor; be ardent in spirit; serve the Lord; rejoice in hope; be patient in suffering; persevere in prayer; contribute to the needs of the saints; extend hospitality to strangers.” Paul is more than usually straightforward here, and what he considers to be the proper works for Christians (or saints, as he calls them) is also summed up in the Great Commandment: Love the Lord with all your heart and might and love your neighbor as yourself.

In today’s lesson from Exodus, God calls Moses to a work that sounds, not only to Moses, but to us as well, like a supremely difficult task to undertake. Moses, not unlike most of us given such a task, tries very hard to get out of doing it. Like us, Moses believes he simply is not equipped to carry out what God asks him to do: to lead the Hebrew people out of Egypt. But here’s the key statement God makes as he convinces Moses to obey him, and it’s well worth our remembering when we find ourselves undertaking a challenging task: God says to Moses, as he also says to us, “I will be with you.”

Jesus’s words in Matthew 16 are pretty clear, too: “If any want to be my followers, let them take up their cross and follow me…For the Son of Man is to come with his angels in the glory of the father, and then he will repay everyone for what has been done.” The ultimate work of Jesus’s life was to die on the cross for our salvation. In his life he modeled love, kindness and generosity to the poor, helpless, and sick people he encountered. The cross he asks us to take up is certainly not HIS cross. There have been saintly martyrs down through the ages, but martyrdom is not likely to be what we are called to do. However, we are called to do whatever God puts before us that needs doing; when we model our lives on Christ’s life of love, kindness, and generosity, then we have taken up our own cross.

I see that Christ-like kindness bearing fruit here in Graves Mill. This past winter, Michelle and Bill and Doug and Dreama and many others came to the aid of Cecil Berry, and you continue to provide for his needs. Fellowship and neighborly kindness seem to come naturally here in the valley, and that’s a wonderful gift.

My mother, Lillian Estes Haney, was born here and carried that Graves Mill spirit with her throughout her life. Mama never did anything noteworthy enough to call attention to herself, but she lived every day with a kind and loving spirit. She didn’t follow a call to do something deeply challenging for the Lord, as Moses did. But since her death, so many people (including people I didn’t know) have told me stories of the ways my mother helped them or treated them kindly or made them feel loved. Kindness was both her gift and her work.

Recently, the public radio station in Harrisonburg, whose program called “Virginia Insight” airs on Monday afternoons, delved into the topic of kindness, and I listened with great interest. A couple of scholars who have written books on the subject were the featured guests on the show, and what they had to say about their research on kindness sounded like simple common sense to me, expressed in “high-faluting” language. One of them said that kindness was an evolutionary imperative. Survival of the fittest depended on human beings learning how to give and receive help, learning how to value kindness. The other one said that sometimes kindness has an ulterior motive: a “you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours” attitude. Both of those things are probably accurate.

What I really found moving and true was a story related by a woman who called in to the show. She told of an act of kindness she had witnessed in a grocery line one day, and it was both very simple and very profound. The checker had to deal with a customer who was slow and clumsy, handicapped in some way. Although most of those in line behind that patron were visibly expressing their impatience at having to wait, the checker continued to treat the person she was serving with kindness and patience. When the woman in line in front of the caller got to the checker, she said to her, “I really appreciate the way you took your time with that customer and treated him so kindly.” As she said this, the checker, who had heard a few complaints, smiled with gratitude.

So, really, there were two acts of kindness: that of the checker in handling her disabled customer and that of the woman who praised her for her generous deed. As small as both of these gestures may have seemed, it would be impossible to measure the way such kindness bears fruit, how far-reaching such acts can potentially be.

“Live in love as Christ loved us and gave his life for us.”
“Serve the Lord with gladness.”

Amen.

God's Will

2011-08-29T17:23:00.000-07:00

Homily for Sunday, August 7 Buck Mountain Church

Lessons:
Genesis 37: 1-4, 12-28
Psalm 105: 1-6, 16-22
Romans 10: 5-15
Matthew 14: 22-33

The collect appointed for today, like many others, could be a little sermon on its own. "Grant to us, Lord, we pray, the spirit to think and do always those things that are right, that we, who cannot exist without you, may by you be enabled to live according to your will." As I interpret the collect, it suggests three things. The first is we want to follow God's will, but we find it hard to do so. Secondly, to follow God's will means to think and do what is right. Finally, the only way we can manage to do that is if God enables us. Hence, we pray. Does this really mean that whether we follow God's will or not is completely up to God? Surely human free will also has a role to play. How do we discern God's will for us?

In his famous book, The Will of God, Leslie Weatherhead offers a convincing clarification. He wrote the book because he didn't agree with people who explained away awful tragedies, like the death of a child, by saying they were the result of "God's will." He said such expressions made no sense, adding, "Surely we cannot identify as the will of God something for which a man would be locked up in jail." Weatherhead explained God's will by dividing it into three parts. The first is what he called "the intentional will of God," or "God's ideal purpose." Quite often, however, "God's ideal purpose" is thwarted by circumstances related to human free will and the existence of evil in the world. Then God has to work through such bad circumstances in order to fulfill his ideal purpose, and Weatherhead calls that "the circumstantial will of God." Finally, in spite of all of the difficult things that may have stood in the way, when God is able to bring about something truly good and fulfill his original intentional will, Weatherhead calls that the "ultimate will of God."

The familiar story of Joseph, the favorite son of Jacob, and all of his brothers is a great illustration of Weatherhead's treatise on God's will. It is clear from the beginning that God has big things planned for Joseph, who can interpret dreams. Remember, Joseph had a couple of dreams--one about sheaves of wheat and the other about the sun, moon and stars--which he interpreted to mean that all of his brothers and even his parents would one day have to bow down to him. The problem was Joseph just couldn't help telling his older brothers about his dreams. How could they hear that prediction and not think Joseph was gloating over them? His words must have sounded like boasting, so there was at least a little bit of hubris on Joseph's part, and pride often comes before a fall, as the old saying goes. It didn't help the brothers feel any more tolerant of Joseph when their father gave him that special robe with long sleeves.

Siblings. If you’ve never had one, you’ve surely heard stories about sibling rivalry. This story about Joseph and his brothers is one of the most famous. You may have seen the movie version of “Joseph and His Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat” starring Donnie Osmond as Joseph. Even without Donnie Osmond, it’s easy to see why Joseph annoyed his siblings, and it wasn't just because of his "nanny nanny boo boo" dreams or the fancy coat. Joseph brought his father a “bad report” about his older brothers. Nobody likes a tattletale.

I can personally attest to that. When I was about four years old, I told on my big brother, who is eight years older than I, and got him into trouble. My brother cornered me, grabbed me by the arm, and said in a very soft and ominous voice, “If you ever tell on me again, I will kill you.” That was a message even a four-year old doesn’t need to hear twice. My tattletale days were over. Maybe Joseph's older brothers should have been kind enough to give him a warning. At least Reuben cared enough about him to figure out a way to keep Joseph alive. So, instead of being killed by his brothers, Joseph was sold into slavery in Egypt.

The intentional will of God for Joseph, "God's ideal purpose" was that he would one day be the salvation of his family, the salvation, really, of Israel. The dream Joseph shared with them about their bundled sheaves of wheat bowing down to his sheaf may even have suggested the upcoming famine and Joseph's role in saving his family from starvation. The evil circumstances that nearly prevented that from happening--the jealousy and revenge of his brothers--had to be used and redirected by God--the "circumstantial will of God." The entire story of Joseph reads like a novel. When he is sold in Egypt, he ends up in the household of a prominent official in Pharaoh's court, a man named Potiphar. Potiphar learns to value Joseph and places him in a position of trust, but Potiphar's wife develops a thing for Joseph and tries repeatedly to seduce him. When he refuses, she accuses him of trying to "lie with" her, and Joseph is thrown into jail. It is in jail that Joseph's talent as an interpreter of dreams is finally revealed, and two years after he correctly interprets the dream of Pharaoh's chief cupbearer, he is brought before the Pharaoh, who has had some troubling dreams. Joseph predicts the upcoming seven years of plenty followed by seven years of famine, and the grateful Pharaoh makes Joseph his second in command. It is in that capacity, and during the famine, that Joseph is able to give help to his starving brothers when they journey to Egypt in search of food. Psalm 105 fills in the details: "Remember the marvels he has done/ the wonders and judgments of his mouth/ O children of Jacob his chosen...He sent a man before them, Joseph, who was sold as a slave./...They bruised his feet in fetters/ his neck they put in an iron collar.../The king sent and released him/ He set him as a master over his household." Think how many twists and turns and unpleasant circumstances had to happen, how many years went by, before the intentional will of God for Joseph could be fulfilled as an ultimate reality. Weatherhead's explanation of God's will supports my belief that God neither causes nor permits the bad things that happen to us. We are the victims of our own mistakes and emotions (fear or pride or envy or anger) or of the bad choices others make. Sometimes we are the victims of unlucky circumstances or natural disasters. But our God is capable of working through all of these things to bring us to his ultimate will for us--that we be happy, well, and free.

In his letter to the Romans, Paul reminds us that discerning God's will for us can be easier than it seems. Quoting Deuteronomy, Paul tells us, "The word is near you, on your lips and in your heart." If we have any conscience at all, if we "think those things that are right," as the collect suggests, then we ought to know how to do the right thing. Listening with our hearts, having faith, trusting in God's love for us will help to carry us through the dark circumstances over which we have no control. His faith in God sustained Joseph through his many trials and brought him to maturity and a gracious generosity when he was finally reunited with his family.

Yesterday was the celebration of the Feast of the Transfiguration. That event in the life of Christ revealed to his chosen disciples that the man they called friend, someone who was much like themselves, could be transformed into a light-filled heavenly creature in the twinkling of an eye. When God exercises his intentional will for us, we too can be transfigured. Our mistakes, our accidents, our weaknesses and sorrows do not have the last word. God can take our darkest circumstances and shed some light on them.

"Grant to us, Lord, we pray, the spirit to think and do always those things that are right, that we, who cannot exist without you, may by you be enabled to live according to your will." How blessed we are to be the children of a loving and persistent God, who grabs hold of us and won't let go

Wrestling With God

2011-08-09T13:58:00.000-07:00

Homily for Sunday, July 31, 2011

Lessons:
Genesis 32: 22-31
Matthew 14: 13-21

Wrestling with God. At first glance, it seems like a pretty crazy thing to do. Who would stand a chance in a battle with the Almighty? Yet, in this famous story of Jacob spending all night wrestling with the Lord, it is the Lord who willingly enjoins the fight and who gives in first.

A couple of years ago, I delivered a homily I called "The Bad Boys of the Bible. " On my list of bad boys were Moses, David, and Jacob--all of whom, in addition to being notorious misbehavers, are three of the most significant figures in Hebrew history. Moses, remember, murdered an Egyptian taskmaster and had to flee from Egypt. When God spoke to him from a burning bush, Moses tried every ruse he could think of to get out of the task God gave him--leading all of the Hebrew people out of Egypt. And King David, remember, had an affair with a married woman and then had her husband killed when he found out she was pregnant. These are not the everyday sins of average human beings. In their efforts to do what they wanted to do rather than follow the will of God, Moses and David wrestled with God, struggled and failed more than once, but ultimately served God to the best of their abilities. Moses and David were big men and big sinners, but God still loved and forgave them.

In our story about Jacob, he is on his way home to encounter his twin brother Esau after living in exile for twenty years. Remember, Jacob had to go into exile after he manipulated the elder Esau into trading his birthright for a bowl of soup. Then he tricked his father Isaac into giving him the blessing that also rightfully belonged to Esau. Jacob was in fact an ambitious con man. Even so, the Lord willingly grapples with him, and Jacob's stubborn determination is rewarded when the Lord blesses him and changes his name to Israel. The twelve sons of Jacob became the founders of the twelve tribes of Israel, the people led out of Egypt, through the Red Sea, and into the Promised Land by Moses. Once again, it is clear that even the worst of sinners (and the greatest of wrestlers) can be loved and used by God.

This is really good news, because I think most of us spend a lot of time wrestling with God. I wrestle with God when things around me seem to be going all wrong and I'm not patient enough to let God reveal a solution. I am also prone to wrestling when what God seems to be calling me to do is not at all what I want to do. We wrestle with God when bad things happen and we want to know why God allowed them. Jacob's story tells us that God not only understands why we wrestle but also encourages us to do so.

In other words, God can handle anything we might want to say when we are anguished or stressed. God seems to prefer that we speak our hearts honestly, express our anger if we need to do so--as long as we stay tuned in for God's response. There's a story about St. Teresa of Avila that illustrates the point very well. St. Teresa, who lived from 1515 to 1582, was traveling by cart one day, on the way to visit one of her monasteries. The cart overturned as it crossed a stream, and St. Teresa's leg was broken. She looked up to Heaven and said, "Lord, if this is how you treat your friends, it's no wonder you have so few."

St. Teresa also said,
Let nothing disturb you
Let nothing frighten you
Everything passes
God never changes
Patience obtains all
Whoever has God wants for nothing
God alone is enough.
Amen.

Faith of Our Fathers

2011-07-09T18:15:00.001-07:00

Lessons for today:

Psalm 13
Genesis 22:1-14
Romans 6:12-23
Matthew 10:40-42

When I was attending Waverly Yowell Elementary School, back in the 1960s, we had a special visitor once a month. We called her the Bible lady, and her name was Miss Neff. She brought in an easel with a flannel board and told us stories from the bible, using colorful flat figures arrayed on scenic backgrounds, all depicted in flannel. When she needed a new scene, she would just flip a new sheet of flannel over the top of the easel and be ready to continue her story. I especially remember the dark open maw of the empty cave and the gray rock she moved away from it to show us Jesus' tomb. Having a visit from the Bible lady was fun for us, and looking back on it, probably one of the few times during the month when our teachers got a break from their students. If we memorized Bible verses and recited them to Miss Neff, she gave us prizes. I still have the white faux-leather KJV Bible I received after learning 500 verses.

I attended Sunday school regularly, and often read evening devotions with my mother, who was a devotee of the King James Version. That beautiful language, the stories and pictures, the images I formed in my head of important figures in our faith history, such as Abraham and Jesus, gave me a distorted sense of historical time, I believe. I knew Jesus and Abraham lived a long, long time ago, but since they seemed to dress alike and speak the same language, I had no idea that nearly 2000 years separated the eras of their lives. I didn't have a clue that Abraham lived in a very primitive, ancient world and, in contrast, Jesus lived in the highly civilized age of the Roman Empire. That distinction is very important to our understanding of today's scripture lessons.

The Old and New Testament lessons for today are truly bookends, in an unexpected way. For modern Christians, the Genesis story, of God ordering Abraham to kill his son and Abraham's near compliance, is one of the most disturbing episodes of the entire Bible. The words of Jesus in Matthew 10 clearly suggest his desire that we adults should take care of children, an attitude toward children more closely reflecting our modern one: "...and whoever gives even a cup of water to these little ones in the name of a disciple...truly, none of these will lose their reward." In Jesus, there is a special blessing for those who care for the little ones.

We do believe we live in a world that cherishes children, that puts children first, and it is unimaginable to us that a father would be willing to kill his own son--or that our God would ask him to do such a thing. After the devastating tornado that ravaged Joplin, Missouri, I heard an interview on NPR with a young woman who was searching for the body of her sister. She knew her sister was dead because her nine-year old nephew had survived. In the chaotic hours just after the tornado, neighbors had found the little boy under a pile of debris, his dead mother's body above him. This young woman had done what any mother instinctively does--she had used her body to shelter her son from the storm. He was injured, but he will survive, thanks to his mother's self-sacrifice.

During my years of teaching, I had occasion to think of the legal term for the relationship between teachers and their students. Teachers serve "in loco parentis," Latin for "in place of parents" as they foster and nurture the children they teach. During mass school shootings at places like Columbine High School, teachers took that designation to its fullest extent, giving their lives to stand between their students and the shooters who took aim to kill them. We like to believe that most of the adults we know would go out of their way to protect children, and that's clearly the way the Lord would have the world operate.

So how do we comprehend the order God gives Abraham to kill his only son Isaac as a sacrifice on the altar? Since the story has a happy ending, with an angel intervening and a ram provided for the sacrifice, as a child I simply thought of it as an exciting suspense story. God knew all along he was going to preserve Isaac's life; who worried about how Abraham and Isaac must have felt when the father laid his boy, bound by rope, atop the pile of wood and took his knife in hand. The lesson was a pretty simple one: if you have as much faith as Abraham (and that's a lot of faith) you will always trust God to do the right thing. It wasn't until I reached adulthood and became a parent that this story began to trouble me.

If we put the father's near-sacrifice of his son into its historical context, taking place about 2000 years before the birth of Jesus (4000 years ago), we can see this incident from a very different perspective. Among the peoples of the region, child sacrifice was a common practice in those days, especially the sacrifice of a first-born child. That would explain why Abraham doesn't seem very surprised by God's command, why he obediently takes his son to the appointed place and prepares for the sacrifice. Oh yes, Abraham proves his faith, his complete trust in God. It is easy to see why he is the chosen one of God, with that much faith. But the truly important lesson is one the psalms and prophets reinforce repeatedly: God doesn't want human sacrifice. As the prophet Hosea simply states the Word of God: "I desire steadfast love and not sacrifice, the knowledge of God rather than burnt offerings." Yahweh, the God of Israel, is a God of love, and in this pivotal story about the patriarch of the Hebrew faith, God shows us that he wants his people to be different from all the others. He wants us to love Him with steadfastness and obedience, to love one another, and to take good care of our children!

Of course, this story also carries with it a darker side, one that we may not choose to examine too closely. Yes, we love children and pass laws to protect God's "little ones." But we know that every day all over the world, children die for lack of food or clean water or decent medical care. Children are daily abused in horrendous ways, in spite of laws and our good intentions. On what altar are these children sacrificed? What, if anything, are we called to do?

One more thing to remember--as much as it must have pained Abraham to be told to sacrifice his son, in the end he was spared that terrible agony. But God did not spare himself; he allowed his own son to be sacrificed for the salvation of all of us. Father and Son have endured the worst the world can offer. Let it be a consolation to us to know they are with every child who suffers. Their eyes are on the sparrows, and their hearts are with the little ones.

Thanks be to God.

Abundant Love

2011-06-20T16:43:00.000-07:00

Homily for Sunday, May 29th, 2011

The Lessons:
Psalm 66:7-18
Acts 17:22-31
1 Peter 3:13-22
John 14: 15-21

The Collect:
O God, you have prepared for those who love you such good things as surpass our understanding: Pour into our hearts such love towards you, that we, loving you in all things and above all things, may obtain your promises, which exceed all that we can desire; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

Have you ever heard of "prosperity theology"? It is also called "Name it and claim it," as in "Ask the Lord for something you really want, and he will give it to you." Proponents of prosperity theology believe that God rewards all true believers with health and wealth. In churches that promote this belief system, living the Abundant Life is the theological focus. But I don't think the theology of abundance in such churches has a whole lot to do with the words in our collect for today. Sure, someone could read "O God, you have prepared for those who love you such good things as surpass our understanding" and imagine great wealth and all the luxuries that attend it. In fact, that is exactly the kind of abundant life the "name it and claim it" churches preach, but you and I know that is NOT the abundance Christ offers us. In fact, wealth is so removed from what His kingdom means that Jesus said it would be easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter his kingdom. The abundance Christ holds out to us is a kingdom of love.

The next words of the collect are like instructions for how to enter his kingdom: "Pour into our hearts such love towards you, that we, loving you in all things and above all things, may obtain your promises, which exceed all that we can desire." Loving the Lord in all things and above all things guarantees our entrance into the kingdom. It sounds like it should be pretty easy, doesn't it? What are the things in human nature that prevent us from the kind of wholehearted love Christ asks of us? Sometimes, we have a hard time loving our neighbor because we don't love ourselves. In fact, we can be downright hateful in the things we say to ourselves in the mirror. Most of us don't take very good care of ourselves, and that's not loving ourselves, either. If we truly believed we are the "offspring" of God, as today's lesson from Acts tells us, or that God and Jesus "live in" us, as John's gospel says, we ought to treat our bodies as sacred space. We ought to recognize the indwelling of the divine in everyone around us. In doing so, we may come closer to loving God in and above all things. Still, it's very hard.

Human nature being what it is--fearful, suspicious, selfish--the kingdom doesn't seem to be so near as Jesus promises. Remember the rich young man who was attracted to Jesus' teaching and wished to follow him? He asked the Teacher what he needed to do in order to be his disciple, and when Jesus told him to give up all of his wealth, the rich young man turned sadly away. Jesus was sad, too, because he saw the potential goodness in the young man. I may have told myself that, not being rich, I am not like the young man; however, I know there are many things I would rather not give up in order to love Christ with my whole heart. (Comfort being a big one!) I wish it didn't have to seem so hard!

As I write these words, I am reminded that we are at the 6th Sunday in the season of Easter. All of the lessons for the Sundays since Easter have concerned the disciples and their reactions to the death and resurrection of Jesus. The second Sunday focused on Thomas and the way he expressed doubt and was reassured by the resurrected Lord. On the third Sunday, we read the story of Jesus' encounter with the two disciples on the road to Emmaus. In this story in particular, as you read it you may want to shake those disciples and ask them why they are so blind. Why can't they see they are talking to the Lord? Priest and writer John Dominic Crossan says that we have our own Emmaus road encounters all of the time. Like the disciples, we don't recognize the Lord until we invite him in. Our ability to enter the kingdom with the Risen Lord, to live in love as Christ loved us, is completely dependent on our willingness. We have to want Him in our lives in order to see that He is already there.

It's really that simple, although we humans like to complicate everything. In today's Gospel lesson from John 14, we see Jesus preparing the disciples for his death and resurrection. (As usual, they don't get it.) Could his language have been any plainer than this? "I will not leave you orphaned; I am coming to you. In a little while the world will no longer see me, but you will see me; because I live, you also will live. On that day you will know that I am in my Father, and you in me, and I in you." Jesus speaks these words to us as well. He lives in our hearts. Since he is inside all of us, we are connected by his presence, all members of the same family and "offspring" of God. We are asked to be willing to pour out our love for him in the way we love one another. Our willingness to love abundantly grants us the abundant life of the eternal kingdom. Welcome, brothers and sisters!

Homily for the Easter Vigil April 23, 2011

2011-04-26T15:43:00.000-07:00

"Welcome Happy Morning, age to age shall say." So begins a very old Easter hymn, dating back to the 6th century. When that song was first written, Christianity had endured for 500 years, and Venantius Honorius Fortunatus, its writer, predicted the continuing of the faith down through the ages. 1500 years later, we can say the same--welcome, happy morning. Easter has arrived!

John's gospel calls Jesus "the true light, which enlightens everyone." On this night, we began our vigil in darkness, remembering the hours when the true light seemed to be snuffed out, when Jesus lay silently in a dark tomb. He, who was God incarnate, endured the pain of a human death, in suffering that can best be described as torture. He surrendered his life, in obedience to the Father, and by dying for our sins, gave us the promise of eternal life. His resurrection on Easter morning demonstrated the way to new life for all his followers.

Imagine what this night of vigil must have been like for those early Christians who came to be baptized on Holy Saturday. After three years of intense preparation, they walked naked through the water, like children entering Paradise: innocent and believing. They were not simply claiming a religion; they were entering a close-knit community. Being a Christian in those days was no easy proposition; those were very dark times indeed, when Christians were persecuted and many were martyred. Early Christians trusted that God would make a way for them in this world and would welcome them to a better life in the next. They entered the waters of baptism with complete assurance of Salvation.

Why did those early Christians pursue the faith in spite of the dangers they could face? Why are there still people of faith today, 2000 years since the death of Christ? For that matter, why are we gathered here in this chapel near Kinsey Run on a Saturday evening? The answer to all these questions is the same. We love Christ because he first loved us and gave his life for us. As Thomas Merton wrote, "We could not seek God unless he were seeking us." Some of us feel a gentle nudge and others, like St. Paul, find themselves knocked to the ground by the power of the call, but all of us are called into the body of Christ. We are called by the power of love and the hope of new life in the world to come. Our faith has survived all these years because many of us have had a personal encounter with Christ, and we bear witness to others. Resurrection is very real to us because Christ lives on in every faithful heart.

Just as each morning the light returns with the rising sun, the darkness of the tomb could not erase the Christ-light. In every act of love, in all our thoughts that turn toward him, Christ is alive in the world. As he told his disciples before the crucifixion, he had to leave them, but he would send the Holy Spirit to dwell in their hearts. The light of his love is eternal and infinite because of his death and the resurrection we celebrate this evening.

All of us have our own experiences with death and resurrection. As much as we'd like to recapture happy days we remember from years gone by--family gatherings at the holidays, graduations and weddings, the birth of a child--those events have died to us. Yet they live in memory and continue to bring us joy.
Both of my parents are long dead, but in my thoughts of them, I feel them to be very much alive. As much as we might want to, we cannot bring back the past, but the blessings of the past--the love, the joy, the hope--can never die.

Even nature has a way of reminding us of the reality of resurrection. We suffered through an exceptionally cold winter this year, but the flowering of dogwood and redbud and the mantle of green bring evidence that seeming death is annually conquered by the force of resurging life. The flood of June, 1995, nearly destroyed this valley and left many of us wondering if anything would ever grow here again, but by the following spring, the meadows were green once more.

Welcome happy morning, age to age shall sing. The light that came into the world and was heralded by the star of Bethlehem on Christmas Eve has now expanded to encompass the whole world with its radiance. The light of Easter Eve is the abiding light of love.

Amen.

Homily for Good Friday April 22, 2011

2011-04-26T15:39:00.000-07:00

"And we call this Friday Good." These are the last words of Part IV of T. S. Eliot's poem "East Coker." A provocative statement, isn't it? As a child I wondered why on earth anyone would call this anniversary of Christ's excruciating death good. What can be good about an unjust arrest and unfair conviction? What is good about the taunting of the crowd, the flogging by the Roman soldiers, the agony of the cross, the betrayal by the disciples, even the seeming abandonment by the Father? Why do we call this day good?

The first and obvious answer is that this is the day on which Christ died to atone for our sins, the self-sacrifice that gives us hope of eternal life. But there is something more. In what we call Christ's passion, we see the man Jesus at his most divine and the Lord Christ at his most human. In his willingness to suffer and die for us, in his obedience to God and his forgiveness of the very men who kill him, we see the man's divinity. In his tormented prayer from the garden--"My Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass from me"--we see the mortal man. When he tells his disciples they will betray him, we recognize his human loneliness. Don't we all feel the pain of this young man when he cries from the cross, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?"

From the earliest days of Christianity, the question of whether Christ was truly both human and divine has been debated. In the 3rd century, a group of Christian followers of the Egyptian presbyter Arius contended that since Jesus was created by God, he was therefore subordinate to and less than the Father. He was, in their eyes, an ordinary mortal. At about the same time, the Gnostics were contending that Christ was completely divine and in no way human, that he was purely of the spiritual realm. Imagine how our understanding of the Lord would have changed if either of these interpretations prevailed. Our current belief that Jesus Christ is both fully human and fully divine underpins our understanding of his love for us.

The church's early controversy ultimately led to the 1st Council of Nicaea in 325 CE, the source of the Nicene Creed we say to this day and reaffirm whenever baptismal vows are made. We recite the Nicene Creed so often that what it says probably eludes us. Why it was written, why we say it is simple: the Nicene Creed declares the full divinity and the full humanity of Jesus. It defines the three figures of the Trinity as being equal and inseparable. Listen to some of the familiar passages from it; see how they uphold both the divinity and the humanity of Jesus:
"We believe in one Lord, Jesus Christ, the only son of God, eternally begotten by the Father, true God from true God, begotten not made, of one being with the Father. For us, and for our salvation, he came down from Heaven, by the power of the Holy Spirit...he was made man." Both truly human and truly divine, "he suffered death and was buried," but "on the third day he rose again."

On this day, this Good Friday, we are asked to rise with Jesus on the cross and descend with him into the tomb. We are asked to enter into his suffering, his darkness. Despite his anguished prayers the night before in the Garden, Jesus calmly responds to Pilate, "You say that I am a king. For this I was born, and for this I came into the world." He accepts and fully understands the cup that has been given him. As Isaiah had prophesied, "He was wounded for our transgressions, crushed for our iniquities; upon him was the punishment that made us whole, and by his bruises we are healed."

In the first line of the Good Friday section of his poem, T.S. Eliot calls Christ "the wounded surgeon," who heals us, as the prophet said, "by his bruises."
The wounded surgeon plies the steel
That questions the distempered part;
Beneath the bleeding hands we feel
The sharp compassion of the healer's art
Resolving the enigma of the fever chart....
The dripping blood our only drink,
The bloody flesh our only food:
In spite of which we like to think
That we are sound, substantial flesh and blood-
Again, in spite of that, we call this Friday good

As the poem suggests, we spend many of our days in lightness, going about our business, believing we are "sound," without considering the real cost of the peace we have been given by our assurance of salvation. On this day, this Good Friday, we are asked to ponder the pain and the darkness of the cross and the suffering of the one who gave his life for us. "Like a lamb he was led to the slaughter, and like a sheep that before its shearers is silent, so he did not open his mouth."

This willing descent into darkness, this complete surrender, the spiritual choice modeled by Christ, has been called the via negativa, the descending way, and it can be terrifying. In spite of his pain, Jesus trusted God and God's plan. In spite of the pain for his Son, God knew that ultimately His plan would be successful. Jesus surrendered his mortal fears and followed the preordained path to the cross. Do we ever truly surrender our fears, worries, preoccupations to God? When we manage to let go in that way, it can feel like "sinking into the arms of God," as Meister Eckhart, 13th century mystic, described it. Maybe, like me, you only surrender when you have exhausted every recourse in a terrible situation until all you can do is surrender it to God. Maybe, like me, when you find that you are finally compelled to surrender, you feel immediate release and you know, on some very deep level, that "all shall be well." Don't you wish you could remember this feeling the next time you find yourself in turmoil? Why do we always take back the illusion we have of controlling our lives? Why is surrender so hard for us? I guess it's because we are fully human--and not very divine!

As many times as I've heard and read the Gospel stories of Holy Week, I still find my heart pounding as the events move relentlessly on to their bitter end. Jesus clearly knows all along what will happen--who will betray him, how he will die--but he continues along the path without veering from it. Yes, he has a few weak seconds of mortal fear and anxiety in the garden and on the cross, and in those moments we recognize our human brother. But his weakness is completely subsumed by his staunch courage and unwavering obedience. Those brief glimpses of human frailty, however, are essential to our understanding of the Lord. The Nicene Creed reminds us that it is important for us to believe that Christ was both man and God. As Edmond Browning, former Presiding Bishop of the Episcopal Church so beautifully states it,
"Jesus was really divine and really human. The way in which he lived that out has always been a mystery. People have often solved it by claiming Jesus didn't really feel the things we feel: no doubts, no temptations, no yearning for love and intimacy. This cannot be! His sacrifice was nothing if his life and its joys were a matter of indifference to him. Part of the glory of the Cross is its sorrow: a young man with everything to live for lays down his life out of a love purer than any the world has known."

Amen. Amen.

A Loving Parent

2011-03-04T17:37:00.000-08:00

Homily for Sunday, February 27th, 2011

Scriptures:
Isaiah 49: 8-16a
Psalm 131
1 Corinthians 4:1-5
Matthew 6:24-34

Since I preach only one Sunday a month, I am usually a little anxious about what the appointed scripture lessons are going to be for the 4th Sunday. There are many passages in the Holy Bible that are either very difficult to comprehend or so stern and forbidding that they can be scary to think about, much less write a homily around. But I was thrilled when I opened the lectionary and found the lessons for today to be some of my very favorites. Even the collect appointed for the 8th Sunday in Epiphany is a beautiful one, and it sums up the message of today's lessons in a concise and compelling way. Let's revisit the collect now:

"Most loving Father, whose will it is for us to give thanks for all things, to fear nothing but the loss of you, and to cast all our care on you who care for us: Preserve us from faithless fears and worldly anxieties, that no clouds of this mortal life may hide from us the light of that love which is immortal, and which you have manifested to us in your Son Jesus Christ our Lord." The opening words, "Most loving Father," hint at an underlying theme in Christ's teaching: We can trust in God because God loves us as a father loves his children. In fact, I think it is safe to say that we come to believe in God and have faith in his love for us through what we learn about love from our own mothers and fathers. Trusting in God to provide all we need, as he provides for the lilies of the field and the birds of the air, relieves us of all fear. When we were very young children, we had no awareness of being in need. If we were fortunate, we had loving parents who met all of our needs before we could even name them. Having a father's hand to hold or a mother's loving arms to embrace us cast out all our fears. As the collect suggests, we grow into "faithless fears and worldly anxieties" as we confront the responsibilities and difficulties of being adults, but it doesn't have to be that way. Our loving Father and our Brother Jesus are ever with us.

For me, the passage from Matthew that begins with the words "Consider the lilies of the field" always reminds me of my dear mother, whose name was Lillian. She could not have been more loving or tender to her children, and in her own ardent faith, she exemplified the love that casts out fear. This passage also always reminds me of Graves Mill, since my earliest memories are set here, in the place where my mother was born. As a young child, in the early '60s, on summer mornings I would walk up Graves Mill road from my grandmother's home to get the mail and visit Dolly at the post office. Along the roadside, orange tiger lilies grew among tall stalks of Queen Anne's lace and blue bachelor's buttons. The fields were full of wildflowers, daisies and clover and buttercups, and bobwhites called from the fencerows. Singing as it tumbled over stones, the Rapidan River was my companion. Here, it was easy to feel both protected and loved, the way these old blue mountains surround the valley like a shield. Here, it has always been easy for me to know the presence of God, to know that I am "preserved from faithless fears and worldly anxieties." As today's psalm reminds us, it is in humble trust that we turn to God and find God's nurturing presence: "like a child upon its mother's breast, my soul is quieted within me."

The verses from Isaiah speak to those who have known the loving care of good parents, but is also offers consolation to the ones who may not have been so fortunate. God says, "Can a woman forget her nursing child, or show no compassion for the child of her womb? Even these may forget, yet I will not forget you. See, I have inscribed you on the palm of my hands." These words are not simply reassuring; they are insistent! God says "See! Look my way and you will find how very near I am to you. You are not only held safely in my hands, you are inscribed there. You are part of me."

When I was a very small child, I was afraid of whippoorwills. Nowadays, I miss hearing their beautiful call. Whippoorwills do not seem to be as plentiful as they were back in those days, and I rarely hear them. But back then, I couldn't fall asleep some nights for hearing their loud cries, and "Whip poor Will" didn't sound very friendly to me. One of my favorite memories of my father is of the night he found me awake, scared of the whippoorwill, and offered me some comfort. Sitting next to me, he turned on the lamp by my bedside and held out his hands, cupped together. He said, "Sue Anne, the whippoorwill is just a little bird. It could fit right here in the palm of my hands." I was never afraid of a whippoorwill again.

Jesus says to us, "Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds of the air; they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? And can any of you by worrying add a single hour to your span of life? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not clothed like one of these. But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which is alive today and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will he not much more clothe you-- you of little faith? Therefore do not worry, saying, `What will we eat?' or `What will we drink?' or `What will we wear?'... your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things. But strive first for the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well."

When we are children and our parents are nearby, we trust we have nothing to fear. We trust that our needs will be met. Being so fortunate, we are grateful for our blessings. Today's collect begins, "Most loving father, whose will it is for us to give thanks for all things, to fear nothing but the loss of you, and to cast all our care on you who care for us." God's will is for us to respond to our blessings with gratitude and to release our fears and worries to Him. I lost my mom twenty years ago and my dad, seventeen, but I cannot lose the Lord in the same way. The only way I can lose the one who has me inscribed on the palm of His hand is if I turn away from Him.
Oh, Lord, remove from us our faithless fears and help us, like children, to trust and love you more and to live our lives in joyful gratitude. Amen.

A Meditation on Light

2011-01-25T17:33:00.001-08:00

Homily for Sunday, January 23, 2011

Lessons:
Isaiah 9:1-4
Psalm 27: 1, 5-13
Matthew 4: 12-23

On January 2nd, as David and I were driving home after visiting family and friends in Northern Virginia, we drove through a brief rain shower near Ruckersville, and then, as we turned onto Earlysville Road, a double rainbow appeared in the sky. How propitious seemed that rare and spectacular phenomenon at the beginning of a new year and in the midst of winter!

For a variety of reasons, January has often been a difficult month for me. The days are short, dark, and cold, and it seems that bad things always happen in January... the shooting in Tucson this year and that terrible earthquake in Haiti last year are examples. A few years ago, to ease my dread of this month, I decided to make a special effort to celebrate the season of Epiphany. My artificial Christmas tree has always gone up in early December, and I decorate it with white lights and blue ornaments and call it my Advent tree. On Christmas Eve, we add red, green, and gold trimmings, and the tree is bright with Christmas cheer. Now I have removed all but the white lights, the stars, snowflakes, and angels, and I call it my Epiphany tree. I'm delighted to be able to leave it up into March this year, since Ash Wednesday is late and Epiphany is a wonderfully long season. How fitting that it is called "The Season of Light"!

But what exactly IS light? As a certainty of everyday life, we fathom light most easily in its absence; at least, in darkness we better grasp our need for light. A scientist would tell you that light is electromagnetic radiation. Just as a living organism can be broken down into cells, light is made up of photons. When sunlight makes its way through droplets of rain, it is refracted into the colors of the spectrum, and we call it a rainbow. Although we think of the sun and moon as earth's primary sources of light (other than our man-made ones), the universe is full of light not generated by its heavenly bodies. Isn't it interesting that in Genesis 1, we are told that God said "Let there be light" on the first day? It isn't until Day 4 that He creates the sun and moon. Light, then, simply IS. Like air, it is a substance we can move through in space and time. Although it is intangible, light has a definite and important part to play in our lives.

The shorter days of the winter months, the preponderance of darkness, and the lengthening of twilight in the late afternoon have led to an ailment that afflicts a significant number of people--Seasonal Affective Disorder, more commonly (and aptly) called SAD. People who suffer from SAD are urged to use sunlamps and to go outdoors in midday, when the sun is brightest. Even if we've never been diagnosed with SAD, most of us can be a little blue on the darkest days. As much as we long for light during the darkness of our winters, imagine what light must have meant to people during the millennia of human history before the invention of electricity. Nowadays one has to drive very far out on back country roads to escape what is called light pollution, and we have more light than we need at the flip of a switch. Last February, by the fourth day of being out of power, I felt a shroud of gloom at nightfall, and I wasn't sure I could endure it for even one more day. Please imagine with me the world as Isaiah and Jesus, Shakespeare and Thomas Jefferson, and even our great-great grandparents knew it, when every evening brought unyielding night. The light produced by candles, torches, and oil lamps couldn't penetrate the darkness beyond a few feet, and darkness must have seemed like a wall.

A world that experienced genuine, almost tangible darkness for half of every day is the context for today's words from the prophet Isaiah. Isaiah speaks of the Lord as a "great light." "The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who lived in a land of deep darkness--on them, light has shined." The preciousness and power of God for his people is summed up in Isaiah's equating of God with light. But it is the ending of this chapter in Isaiah, Chapter 9, that connects the splendid origin of that "great light" to the coming of the Messiah: "For a child has been born to us, a son given to us; authority rests upon his shoulders; and he is named Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, the Prince of Peace." Jesus is the Light of the World. He says so himself in John 8:12. "I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life."

Light as an image of truth, power, life, and hope hearkens back to the first story of creation in Genesis, when the earth was called "a formless void" and darkness covered everything, until God spoke and said, "Let there be light." Isaiah tells us that the arrival of Jesus is the ultimate fulfillment of the creation promise. "His authority shall grow continually, and there shall be endless peace..." The star that heralded his birth and drew three wise men from the east is the first association of light with Jesus. What were these wise men really seeking? Some scholars surmise that they came from Persia. At the time of Jesus's birth, the dominant religion of Persia was Zoroastrianism, whose doctrine was to believe in one universal God, a God that espoused truth, beauty, and order. For three men of high station (they are called kings, after all) and great learning to make such a difficult journey, it suggests they had very high expectations of the infant they came to honor. Could these men, who may have believed in one universal and unifying God, have sought out the infant hoping he would bring peace to all mankind? Is the story of the Epiphany foreshadowing the arrival of God's kingdom on earth?..."Thy kingdom come," we say...

In today's gospel lesson from Matthew 4, Jesus is specifically connected to Isaiah's prophecy of the Prince of Peace; in verses 12 through 17, Isaiah's words are rephrased. As he begins his ministry, Jesus tells the people that he has come to bring the kingdom of heaven: "Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near." And what will God's kingdom look like? In God's kingdom, people are cured of every disease and every sickness, as Matthew 4:23 tells us. Jesus is the light of the world. He is also love. In last Sunday's lesson from Living the Questions, a biblical scholar suggested that the idea of the kingdom of God is an easy one to understand if we remember that Jesus and everyone around him lived under the rule of a Roman emperor. The world would have been a very different place with God on the throne instead of the emperor. Better yet, this scholar suggested, if God was and is king, what would God's budget look like? How would Jesus spend your tax dollars? As he himself said, "Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light."

Here, of course, light means having little weight and being easy to carry. Even in our well-lighted world, the significance of light is still reflected in our use of the word. As a word, light has many happy connotations. Shall we mediate on a few of them?

When your grandchild calls you on the phone and says, "Are you coming over?" (as mine did yesterday), you might think, as I did, that child is the light of your life.

When you "see the light," you have finally understood something that had been perplexing and troubling you.

To "shed light" on something is to bring it out into the open so that everyone can appreciate its meaning.

When a person's face "lights up," it is full of joy.

Someone with a "light touch" has the grace to deal with others tactfully and delicately.

When a butterfly "lights" on a flower, anyone who sees it may be cheered.

To have a "light heart" is to feel released from care and worry.

If you are "light on your feet" you are nimble and graceful.

The Age of "Enlightenment" was a time when reason and science overcame superstition and prejudice.

Before I get too carried away with the various uses of the word light, I would like to ask all of us to consider what our world would be like if the light of Jesus had never entered it. Seriously, can you imagine this world without him?

I would never ask such a question anywhere but in a church. Here, we are united in our belief in Jesus as Lord. We profess the truth of his teachings and, in calling ourselves Christian, we acknowledge our faith in him. As Episcopalians, we are all part of the Anglican communion, and as Americans, we have been shaped by Western culture and Western civilization. The laws we live by and the way we conduct our daily endeavors all reflect the philosophy and mores handed down to us by our European ancestors. From the Magna Carta to the King James version of the Bible, from our own constitution to Lincoln's "Gettysburg Address," we are a people who have inherited the benefits of living in God's kingdom. We believe in justice, in mercy, in equality, in our responsibility for and to others. We believe in self-sacrifice for the greater good, in courage, in integrity. All of these principles were modeled for us and for our ancestors by Jesus Christ, the Light of the World. The kingdom is very near when the Light prevails.

What the Ducks Do for Us

2010-11-02T17:12:00.000-07:00

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.

A Meditation on the Cross

2010-09-01T17:11:00.000-07:00

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.

What Is Prayer?

2010-07-28T04:23:00.000-07:00

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.

In the Whirlwind

2010-07-11T14:49:00.000-07:00

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.

The Advocate and the Trinity

2010-06-03T18:26:00.000-07:00

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.

The Promise of the Good Shepherd

2010-05-05T18:20:00.000-07:00

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

Journey With the Prodigal

2010-03-28T16:27:00.000-07:00

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.

Lenten Reflections

2010-03-01T06:53:00.000-08:00

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.

A Meditation on Kindness

2010-01-28T20:12:00.000-08:00

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.

What the Lord Asks of Us

2009-11-24T16:31:00.000-08:00

Thanksgiving Homily
November 22, 2009

Welcome to our Harvest feast. As we celebrate Thanksgiving, it is good to remember those who founded this church so many years ago. Even though we don't know everything about them, we know they cared enough about the Lord and about each other to plant a church here and join in Christian fellowship. What they planted has lasted. We are called, as the current stewards of this church community, to do all we can to make it last another 100 years.

About a month ago, I was participating in a vestry retreat at my church, Buck Mountain Church in Earlysville, when Chuck Mullally, rector of Emmanuel Greenwood, led the vestry and committee chairs in a discussion about our goals for the church. He prefaced his remarks to us in a very memorable way. He simply quoted the words of Jesus, from John 15:16: "You did not choose me, but I chose you." Never having thought about my church membership in quite that way, I was a bit stunned. It really did make me think about how and why I first began to attend church there. That led me to think back to my childhood years of attending services right here in Graves Chapel. In that context, it is easy for me to see how my family members and all of the Graves Mill residents who came here in those days were chosen and called to be here by God. Something about this lovely old church and its sweet simplicity is still very appealing to people, isn't it? I urge you to consider how the Lord has called you to be part of your church community. It may give you goose bumps--it did me!

Just as those 19th Century founders of Graves Chapel were called to communion with one another, we are called with all the saints to an ongoing communion with God. As we avow in the Apostle's Creed: "I believe in the Holy Spirit, the holy catholic Church, the communion of saints..." Catholic is written with a lower case C, meaning the church universal. The word saints also begins with a lower case S, because we everyday saints are innumerable. We experience the work of the Holy Spirit entering our hearts and binding us together, so we say we believe in the church. As priest and theologian Henri Nouwen wrote, "The Apostle's Creed does not say that the Church is an organization that helps us to believe in God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit. No, we are called to believe in the church with the same faith we believe in God."

Like we everyday saints who make up the Church, the Church is not perfect. So why does Father Nouwen remind us that we are asked to put our faith in the Church? He says it is because "God has given us the Church as the place where God becomes God-with-us." Think about it. We have all been chosen by God to be in this place at this time. We have been called into community here at Graves Chapel, and God, who gave us this church and brought us to it, is in the midst of us. As it says in the Book of Revelations, "See, the home of God is among mortals. He will dwell with them as their God; they will be his peoples and God himself will be with them; he will wipe every tear from their eyes." We can look for God in each other's faces as we share our dinner today. After all, we are saints.

In his book The Holy Longing, Ronald Rolheiser says, "To be a saint is to be fueled by gratitude, nothing more and nothing less." Shouldn't there be a lot of saints in the world if the basic fuel of sainthood is gratitude? Doesn't everyone have some reason to be grateful? Maybe being told we should be grateful and having gratitude are very different things. Gratitude simply rises up in our hearts whenever we think of our blessings. There is no should involved in the spontaneous joy that comes from gratitude, and I would never dare to stand here and say you should be grateful to God for your many blessings, especially since I am in as much need of reminding as anyone else. What we decide to give in gratitude to God is deeper than a should. We choose to give back to God a portion of what God has already given us in thanksgiving for the merciful abundance of our blessings. This free-will sacrifice is not intended to make us suffer; in fact, if it is truly an expression of gratitude, we will feel joy in the giving. As Psalm 50 says, "Offer to God a sacrifice of Thanksgiving...Those who bring Thanksgiving as their sacrifice honor me." In calling us to community in this church, God asks us to demonstrate our gratitude for our many blessings in some tangible ways. In Holy Longing, Rolheiser goes on to say this gratitude for our blessings will give us a "mellowness of heart and spirit" that is one of the essential ingredients of Christian discipleship.

Actually, Rolheiser cites four "non-negotiable essentials of Christian spirituality," very clearly based on the words and teachings of Jesus Christ. It might be useful to look at all four of them now. The first is "private prayer and private morality." Just as we are called to community in church, we are also called to develop a personal relationship with God through time spent alone in prayer. Jesus tells us in Matthew 6, "Whenever you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you." In that way, we are guided to an experience of God within our own hearts that allows us to see God in others.

The part about "private morality" is more difficult. Jesus knows how much we want to impose our own morals on others. That's why he said things like "Judge not less you be judged" and "Why do you see the speck in the eye of your brother or sister but do not see the log in your own eye?" Clearly he wants us to examine our own faults and work on self-improvement instead of judging and blaming others. Why is that so essential? We are called to community in Christ's love, and it's hard to be in community with someone of whom we disapprove. In fact, if you've ever been on the receiving end of such disapproval, you know how hard that can be. What others do may not be what we would do, we may not even like it, but we must leave it up to God to judge. Our task is to "live in love, as Christ loved us."

The second "non-negotiable essential of Christian spirituality" is social justice. In his words recorded in Matthew 25, Jesus makes it very plain that we are to concern ourselves with the needs of others as he speaks of the King separating the sheep from the goats: "Then the righteous will answer him, 'Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? 38When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? 39When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?' The King will reply, 'I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.' " Our very gathering here today, the proceeds of which will be given to MESA, is a demonstration of our concern for social justice issues. We understand, as Henri Nouwen put it, that "the poor are given to the Church so that the Church as the body of Christ can be and remain a place of mutual concern, love, and peace."

Along with private prayer, social justice, and mellowness of heart and spirit, Rolheiser's fourth non-negotiable essential of Christian discipleship is "concrete involvement within a historical worshiping community." Now, when Rolheiser uses the word historical, he means something like lasting or traditional , but in terms of historical worshiping communities, there aren't many older and more prayer-soaked than this one. In saying that a worship community is one of the essentials of Christian spirituality, Rolheiser is saying something the founders of Graves Chapel well understood. We can't do this by ourselves. We need each other as much as we need private prayer. The experience of "God with us" can be as powerful as the experience of "God with me." Christ tells us to love our neighbor, suggesting the need for a neighbor to love. We experience that Christian love for neighbor firsthand in our church home, and then we reach out in love to neighbors in the community at large. Without each other, there is no church.

We depend on and need each other in our endeavor to be true disciples of Christ, and the formula is not too difficult. Private prayer and personal morality. Social justice. Mellowness of heart and spirit. Worship in a Christian community. As Christ told us, his yoke is easy and his burden is light. Old testament prophet Micah summed up our task as well when he said, "And what does the Lord require of you? To act justly, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your Lord."

Today I am grateful for this gathering of friends and neighbors. I am grateful to be in this chapel, a place near to my heart all my life. I am grateful for this abundant feast we will soon enjoy, and grateful for your generosity in sharing it. I am grateful we live in a country where such blessings are possible even in hard economic times. I am grateful for the Lord's goodness made manifest in all of you.

Thanks be to God!

Be Careful What You Ask For

2009-10-26T06:08:00.000-07:00

Sermon for Sunday, October 25, 2009

Lessons:
Psalm 34
Job 42: 1-6, 10-17
Mark 10: 46-52

Be careful what you ask for. We've all heard that before. It has taken me a while, but I have finally learned not to pray for patience. A prayer for patience, I've found, grants me situations in which I am compelled to learn how to be patient.

In today's Old Testament lesson, we enter Job's story near the end, when Job's family and fortune are restored to him. Job's case is a very unusual one in that he suffers greatly and loses all that he has because of a wager between God and Satan. When the Book of Job begins, we learn that he is a good, righteous, and faithful man with a large family and many possessions. Satan bets God that he can convince Job to turn his back on his faith. God believes that Job will stay faithful, so he agrees to the bet, only stipulating that Job's life is to be spared. Everything else is on the table.

Given such a free hand, Satan tests Job in truly cruel ways. Job loses all of his children and all of his property. Ultimately, he is covered in boils and sores and spends all of his time sitting on an ashheap. His poor wife, who is, of course, simply a victim of the same circumstances, urges Job to "curse God and die," but Job will not do that. Some of his friends come to comfort him, but their manner is far from consoling. They question Job so they can help him figure out the sin he is guilty of that has apparently caused God to punish him so drastically. Job insists he has done nothing wrong, and we know he is telling the truth. It's just not fair.

Even as he remains faithful, not cursing God as his wife suggests, Job does ask something of God. In fact, he makes a demand: "Let the Almighty answer me"--what have I done to deserve this? And then, as the Book says, "God answers Job out of the whirlwind" : "Where were you when I laid the foundations of the earth?" Running down the list of creation's deep mysteries, God puts Job in his place. The passage has a "How dare you question me" kind of tone, but the point is clear: I am God, and you, Job, are not. Don't even try to understand what my power is capable of doing. Be careful what you ask for. Then, as today's lesson reveals, Job is humbled. He responds to God by saying, "I know that you can do all things, and that no purpose of yours can be thwarted...Therefore I have uttered what I did not understand, things too wonderful for me, which I did not know...I had heard of you by the hearing of the ears, but now my eye sees you: therefore I despise myself, and repent in dust and ashes." As an expression of obedient faith and humble repentance, these simple words of Job are exemplary. God rewards him by giving him a new set of children and unimaginable wealth.

The story of Job is a challenge. Who wants to imagine God gambling with Satan, our lives as the stakes? Maybe the only way to understand the significance of this story is to see it as an allegory about the unfairness of life. Life is unfair, and there is nowhere in the Bible where anyone is promised otherwise. Even so, we are promised the mercy and compassion of God, and in the end, Job receives an abundance of those blessings.

Our blind beggar in the lesson from Mark is also a victim of life's unfairness. Like Job, Bartimaeus has heard of the Lord "by the hearing of the ear" and he is ready when Jesus approaches. He shouts out, "Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!" When the crowd tries to hush him, Bartimaeus cries out even more desperately, and Jesus stops and says, "Call him here." But when this blind beggar throws off his cloak and appears before the Lord, Jesus says a most peculiar thing, or so it seems. He asks this blind man, "What do you want me to do for you?" Only after Bartimaeus says, "My teacher, let me see again" does Jesus heal him.

I say that Jesus's question is peculiar, but maybe obvious is a better word. It seems pretty clear to us, and it must have looked that way to the people in the crowd, that Bartimaeus would ask Jesus to remove his blindness and restore his vision. Why, then, does Jesus ask him what he wants?

I think it is because the Lord knows human nature, knows our innermost thoughts and feelings. He understands our true motives for doing things when we don't even admit them to ourselves. The story of the healing of Bartimaeus is not the only occasion in the gospels when Jesus asks such a question of someone imploring him for help. This is his gentle way of saying, "Be careful what you ask for."

Knowing the habits of thought and attitude humans are subject to, Jesus wants Bartimaeus to think about all of the ways his life will change when he can see. After many years of living as a blind beggar, it may be that Bartimaeus has come to enjoy the pity of others. He may have developed a sizeable share of self-pity as well, and that would be understandable. Within the confines of the very small world his blindness compels him to inhabit, Bartimaeus has created a comfort zone and a predictable life for himself. Jesus wants to know if he is really ready to give that up, because Bartimaeus's whole world will change " in the twinkling of an eye."

Given the opportunity, the Lord would ask the same question of us. Self-examination must be part of our prayer lives or we will enter prayer with conflicted hearts. As I worked on my last two sermons, I have been thinking about prayer and sharing my thoughts with you. I have said that prayer can be an ongoing conversation with God since God is present with us every moment of every day. As long as we choose to be aware of God, we can touch that gracious presence because God wants to connect with us and wants to bless us. When Christ said, "The kingdom of God is at hand" he meant us to believe him and to believe that he dwells in our hearts. That message is very clear.

The message of blind Bartimaeus and others like him is also clear. In order for us to receive the blessings Christ so willingly wishes to give us, we need to prepare for our lives to be changed. Whatever it is we earnestly seek in prayer, whether it is healing or relief from anxiety over financial matters, the answer we are given is bound to bring something new into our lives. That something new may not be exactly what we have expected, and human beings don't often respond well when we are required to make unexpected adjustments to our lives. In fact, we may not even recognize that our prayers have been answered if we expect a different answer.

Change is bound to happen in our lives--how many times have we been told "Change is inevitable"? Think about how much of every day we spend either accepting change as it comes our way or resisting it. Prayer gives us the opportunity to shape the changes in our lives as it helps us to see clearly the need for change and gives us the ability to accept it.

Maybe it would be helpful to pray for clarity or guidance before we pray for anything else. Maybe it is a good idea to pray to be ready for the answers we are given. When we can't let go of our need to have things our way, praying to be able to surrender is a good idea. That prayer alone could resolve a lot of issues.

Christ said to us, "Seek and you shall find. Knock, and the door will be opened." Prayer is the way we seek. Knocking suggests persistence. As today's psalm says, "They that seek the Lord shall not want any good thing." We just need to recognize and accept the good stuff when it comes our way.

On Prayer

2009-09-27T18:57:00.000-07:00

Sermon for Sunday, September 27, 2009

Lessons:

Psalm 124

James 5:13-20

Mark 9:38-50

People pray all the time, even some people who don't consider themselves very religious. You can hear such prayers in all kinds of places. "Oh, God!" "For Christ's sake!" "Jesus!" Sometimes expletives are added. There is just something in human beings that makes them call out to God when they find themselves in a crisis--or at a ball game.

Today's epistle from James of Jerusalem, also known as the brother of our Lord, addresses the topic of prayer. James says, "The prayer of the righteous is powerful and effective." My first thought after reading these words of James was that I wished he had not included the word righteous. Many people already struggle with prayer, feel as if they don't know how to connect to God, or feel as if God isn't always listening, and I would not want them to believe their difficulty with prayer is a judgment on their righteousness. God does not set any barriers or conditions on prayer, because prayer is open to everyone, and all prayer can be powerful and effective.

I would like to share with you some of the things I have discovered about prayer in my own search for a closer connection to God.

Maybe the most essential thing I have learned about prayer is that my desire to pray comes from God. We pray because God invites us into a conversation with him. God knows all of our needs and desires before we even speak the words, yet God wants to hear from us. That very longing we feel for God as we enter into prayer is our guarantee that God is present with us.

Human frustration arises when we don't feel that God answers us, when our prayer seems more like a monologue than a dialogue. Why does this happen? We enter prayer with good intentions, and we wish with all our hearts to be answered by God. When we don't receive the kind of answer we expect we may feel like failures--or worse, that God has failed us. But it isn't that our prayers are inadequate or God is inattentive. I believe the difficulty lies in the way we think of God. If we imagine God to be at a great distance from us, so that our prayer is a reaching out across a vast space, then it is easy to expect God not to pick up our call. He is too busy, or he just can't hear us. But God is not at the farthest reaches of interstellar space. God is Spirit, and that Spirit dwells in our very hearts. God is always present, and our prayers to God simply acknowledge that Presence. To hear God's response, we have to learn to listen with our hearts, not with the ears of our minds.

As Father Martin Smith says in his book, The Word Is Very Near You, "Prayer is communion between all that we are and all that God is." Since we "live and move and have our being" in the constant presence of God, all that we say and do can be seen as prayer, if we choose to see it so. That may be what James had in mind when he used the word righteous--if we are always aware that our words and deeds are performed in the Presence of God, then we will want them to be worthy of God. Our very lives are prayers.

Thankfully, God is merciful! In fact, if we ponder with humility the idea that our lives are an ongoing conversation with God, then we have abundant cause to believe that God is infinitely merciful. If I weigh my own life on a righteousness scale, I have certainly done more things that I wish God had not seen than those I am glad He witnessed. How very blessed I am to be the recipient of so much grace! What a relief to know that God's love for us outweighs all of our sins!

Believing that God is always with us, how do we learn to listen to God with our hearts? St. Francis de Sales advised Christians to spend a half hour every day in deliberate prayer, and he added, "if very busy, pray for an hour." He did not suggest an hour's worth of words pouring from us, however. The prayer of this St. Francis is simply being quiet in the presence of God. Here is how he described it: “If the heart wanders or is distracted, bring it back to the point quite gently and replace it tenderly in its Master's presence. And even if you did nothing during the whole of your hour but bring your heart back and place it again in Our Lord's presence, though it went away every time you brought it back, your hour would be very well employed.” The practice or habit of prayerful connection with God will be its own answer and reward in the peace it brings.

Christ himself suggested something like this in Matthew 6 when he said, "Whenever you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret, and your Father who sees in secret will reward you. When you are praying, do not heap up empty phrases as the Gentiles do; for they think they will be heard because of their many words. Do not be like them, for your Father knows what you need before you ask him." In giving us what we call "The Lord's Prayer," Jesus suggested just a few things to address in prayer: gratitude for our blessings, mercy for our failures, and protection from danger. Beyond those things, Jesus seems to say, we must leave the rest to God.

So, prayer isn't so much about what we have to say to God, but how we receive what God gives to us. How often do we pray half-heartedly, with the door to our heart only slightly ajar, I wonder? As Christian philosopher Simone Weil said, "God continually showers the fullness of his grace on every being in the universe, but we consent to receive it to a greater or lesser extent. In purely spiritual matters, God grants all desires. Those who have less have asked for less." That bears repeating. "In purely spiritual matters, God grants all desires." We can pray to be more open to receive God's grace, and that prayer will be answered. We can pray to feel God's presence and to understand God's purpose for us. If we open wide the doors to our hearts, such prayers will be answered.

The only way to open wide the door to our heart is to be fully aware of the present moment. If we are not fully present, how can we expect to experience the Presence of God? That is exactly what St. Francis de Sales meant when he said, " If the heart wanders or is distracted, bring it back to the point quite gently and replace it tenderly in its Master's presence." We can leave behind the words and the confusion caused by words if we think of prayer as an openness, an attitude, a way of being and not a way of speaking.

In his wonderful book on contemplative prayer, Everything Belongs, Richard Rohr says, "Prayer is not primarily saying words or thinking thoughts. It is, rather, a stance. It's a way of living in the Presence, living in awareness of the Presence, and even of enjoying the Presence."

Awareness, or present-moment living, brings with it many gifts. When we are distracted or anxious, too caught up in worries or the task at hand, we may miss the blessings God so lavishly sends our way. Preoccupied, we may not see the butterflies in migration or the changing patterns of the leaves. We may fail to hear a child's innocent and charming question. We may lose an opportunity to demonstrate our love for someone in need of love. Surrendering all of our distractions to God opens us to the blessings of the moment. God speaks to us in these blessings.

There are some days, however, when we cannot experience our lives as being blessed. Of course we face dark days, sickness, and grief along the way. Of course there are times when we cry out in desperation or anger to God. Of course there are times when we feel God is very far away and our prayers are useless. My own experience has been that being in the practice of prayer as awareness of God's presence allows me to feel God's mercy and grace even more keenly when my need is greatest. Surrendering my hardships to God offers release and blessed reassurance. At such moments I feel deeply Dame Julian's promise, "All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well."

Surrender to God in the present moment and gratitude for our many blessings are two natural components of prayer, and they seem to be the most important ones. Whether we actually fall to our knees in prayer or feel ourselves to be inwardly kneeling, when we turn our lives over to God, we surrender our will to His. Thomas Merton's famous prayer says much about the uncertainty of prayer and the blessing of surrender:

MY LORD GOD, I have no idea where I am going. I do not see the road ahead of me. I cannot know for certain where it will end. Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think I am following your will does not mean that I am actually doing so. But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you. And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing. I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire. And I know that if I do this you will lead me by the right road, though I may know nothing about it. Therefore I will trust you always though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death. I will not fear, for you are ever with me, and you will never leave me to face my perils alone. [The Merton Prayer]

What a blessing it is simply to surrender! The only appropriate response to such a gift is gratitude. As the mystic Meister Eckhart said, "If the only prayer you ever say in your entire life is thank you, it will be enough."

Thanks be to God!

On the Serenity Prayer

2009-08-31T08:11:00.000-07:00

August 30, 2009 Homily for 5th Sunday Dinner on the Grounds

Having a genie that will fulfill all of our dreams, or as in some versions of this fantasy at least three of them, is an idea older than the Arabian Nights. Maybe we have had occasion at some time in our lives to think about how we would craft our three wishes to manipulate the genie and get the most from each wish. I admit I've thought about it. This little parable with a genie that fulfills one's every desire is a good illustration of the danger of having so much control. The control we think we may have over the world around us is really just an illusion. When we try to exert God-like control, even though we lack the wisdom and power of God, something is bound to go wrong. Choices we make can have unexpected and dangerous side-effects.

The ultimate lesson of the holy man in this parable, with his prayer beads, is that the wisest path for us is to still our hearts, let go of our need to have everything our own way, and turn our wishes over to God in prayer. There is a now-famous little prayer that expresses this idea in a most powerful way--the Serenity Prayer. You may be like me someone who says the words of this prayer often, or you may never have heard of it, but I think it is worth repeating now and pondering. Please say it along with me if you know it. "God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference."

Let's think about what this prayer says to us. There are many things in life over which we have no control, and yet we will often preoccupy our minds with thinking about how to control them. If we had our own way, we would control the opinions of other people, their actions, what they think about us, how they treat us and others. We would control the environment around us, where we work and where we live, even the weather. We would control the events that trouble us or the illnesses that beset us. All of these are things that we have likely spent many hours of our lives fretting about, worrying over, or trying to fix. Yet, at some point, if sanity and serenity are to prevail, we have to admit to ourselves that we don't have real control over people, places, or things that happen. As the serenity prayer suggests, all we can do is accept that we cannot change such things, even though we want to. Such acceptance brings serenity, an inner peace. In that moment of acceptance, we are letting go of the illusion of control and admitting that God is really the only one in charge.

But such acceptance does not make us weak. On the contrary--when we stop the useless frittering away of our time by trying to do God's job, we are empowered to exercise the control we do have: control over ourselves. Why does the serenity prayer say that we need "courage to change the things we can"? I think that's because the real reason why we spend so much time preoccupied with the actions and faults of others is that we don't really want to face the things in ourselves that may need to change. It does take courage to look that deeply within, but that's where prayer and God's help can liberate us. When we examine ourselves and find some attitude that needs adjusting, we can work on it until we are free of its influence. True inner peace comes from acceptance of ourselves as well as of others.

Finally, the Serenity Prayer says that we need wisdom to know the difference between what we can change and what we cannot. Once again, prayerful inner examination will help us to make that discernment. In general, however, we will usually come around to the same conclusion: the only persons we have either the ability or the right to change are ourselves.

If we want to have peace of mind and joy, a habit of daily prayer, including God in our lives, is essential. How else can we have a true perspective on our lives? When we preoccupy our minds with worries, fears, and the need to control, we forget God's true place. Since those preoccupations are often about something that has already happened or something that may happen in the future, such thinking keeps us from living fully in the present moment. As Christ himself said, " Do not worry about tomorrow; for tomorrow will care for itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own." When we don't focus on what is happening right here, right now, we miss what is real and important and exciting and beautiful about our lives. If we wish to encounter God, we will only find Him in the present. God is always with us, if we but turn to him.

If you are a fan of Forward Day By Day, you may have read a quotation attributed to Saint Francis de Sales in Friday's entry: "When you are not too busy, pray for a half hour every day; when you are too busy, pray for one hour every day." Letting go of the busyness of our lives and the anxieties that accompany such busyness is the best antidote for the stress of modern living. We can face and handle anything when we have grounded ourselves in God, who can help us through prayer to have a better and wiser perspective on everything. "God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference."

Wearing the Armor of God

2009-08-25T10:29:00.000-07:00

Sermon for Sunday, August 23, 2009

Lessons for this Sunday:
Psalm 84, "God's House"
1st Kings 8: 1, 6, 10-11, 22-30, 41-43
Ephesians 6: 10-20
John 6: 56-69

We humans are on a perpetual quest to feel at home inside our own skins, to be at peace with our deepest selves. Most of us have experienced times of anxiety or shame when we would like to run away from our very selves, if such a thing were possible. Sometimes we feel as if our body has betrayed us, and we feel ourselves to be trapped in a prison of flesh and bone. Then, the voice of reason in our heads may be losing the argument to the voice of fear and anxiety. From my own experience, it feels as if these moments are among the most painful ones we ever suffer. Finding peace and calming our anxious hearts is the healing we can hope for since the home we are seeking is the home where our souls connect with God. St. Augustine put it this way: "My heart does not find rest, Lord, until it rests in thee."

During the years of restless wandering in the desert, the people of Israel kept the Ark of the Covenant in a tent. After David became king, he wanted to build a "house" for the Lord's Ark, but the prophet Nathan was sent to tell David that building such a house was not his role. David was promised the continued favor of the Lord and told that his successor would be his son. That son, Solomon,would be allowed, at last, to build a temple. The Lord was reluctant to place his "house" in a permanent position, and, in his words of dedication, Solomon displays his famed wisdom as he expresses God's intention: "Even heaven and the highest heaven cannot contain you, much less this house that I have built." The temple, like our physical bodies, can hold within it only a portion of the infinite and awesome Spirit of God. Even so, any place where we encounter the Spirit is a holy place and the home of the Lord.

Solomon goes on to make a radical statement: the temple he has erected will attract people of all nations--foreigners will be drawn to it, and they will be welcomed there "so that all the peoples of the earth may know your name and fear you, as do your people Israel, and so that they may know that your name has been invoked on this house that I have built.” Wherever God dwells, in our need we humans are invited to be there also.

Psalm 84 provides an outline of some of the places where God can be found at home: a tabernacle, a swallow's nest, a desolate valley, a pool of water, a mountain top, a king's court. This little chapel has been God's home since 1885, but the beautiful valley and shepherding mountains around us have been God's home since the day of Creation. Like the Spirit itself, home is an idea, if an all-encompassing one.

Camelot. If you are like me and you've read the Arthurian stories since childhood, that name may make you smile as it conjures up images of knights, fair maidens, and a round table. I recently attended the stage version of the musical Camelot and found it delightful. In the play, as Arthur is musing about his vision for his kingdom, he tells Guinevere how, from a hawk's perspective flying high above the earth, there are no borders and boundaries. Borders are a human invention, and Arthur goes on to remark how amazing it is that human beings are willing to die for an idea.

The idea Arthur proposes for Camelot is that his knights, from their societal positions of wealth and power, should use the gifts they've been given to protect those who are weaker and poorer than they. They will fight for what is right rather than to display their might. They will be sent out on quests to do good deeds, and when they return to the court, they will tell the stories of their valor. To insure the noble equality of this brotherhood and their respect for one another, they would be seated together with the king at a large round table. Imagine that. Think for a moment about what Arthur had to say about ideals of social justice, faithful courage, and democracy that we continue to value today. Unfortunately, even in our modern world we have not reached the perfect state that Arthur, who was called the Once and Future King, envisioned.

The first Arthurian stories began making the rounds by way of troubadors in the Middle Ages. Although there is insufficient evidence to prove there was a real King Arthur, many historians agree there probably was such a king. Until it was abandoned around 410 A.D., Britain was the farthest outpost of the Roman Empire. When the Romans left, they left behind native peoples- the Celts--who had been exposed to the Roman version of civilization and to Christianity. The Romans abandoned England because increasing invasions by Anglo-Saxon warriors were proving to be too costly and troublesome, and the Roman legions were needed at home. Like the Biblical King David who gathered the people of Israel under one rule and established the city of Jerusalem, the 6th Century King Arthur gathered the remnant Celtic peoples together and made a home for them in Britain and a seat of power in Christian Camelot. For as long as he was king, the invading hordes of pagan Anglo-Saxons were held back. Sadly, as all human endeavors ultimately come to an end, Arthur's kingdom was destroyed by the revolt of his illegitimate son Mordred. Arthur and Mordred gave each other fatal wounds in their final battle, and it is said that Arthur was taken to the Isle of Avalon. Glastonbury Abbey, which sits atop a hill once surrounded by marshes, is believed to be the site of Avalon. It is also believed to be the place where Joseph of Arimathea brought the holy grail, the chalice with which he caught drops of Christ's blood as he stood beneath the cross.

Since the physical evidence of a real King Arthur is scarce, some people like to say the stories of this great king are myths or legends. Whether he had a physical existence or not doesn't really seem to matter to me. What matters about King Arthur is the idea we associate with his name, an idea that has inspired the imaginations of countless people down through the ages. The Arthurian idea brings together all that is best and most noble in human endeavor and in the Christian faith. As Christians we are called to go out into the world and serve those in need; to sacrifice our own comfort to advance the greater good, no matter the cost; to ensure that justice is done and all are treated fairly; to give fealty and loyal tribute to our Lord and King, Christ Jesus. We are called to be Knights of the Lord's Round Table, where we feast on the Bread of Life.

Maybe it was Paul's words today in the Letter to the Ephesians that caused me to make this connection between the Lord and King Arthur. Paul tells us "Be strong in the Lord and in the strength of his power. Put on the whole armor of God, so that you may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil. For our struggle is not against enemies of blood and flesh, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers of this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places. Therefore take up the whole armor of God, so that you may be able to withstand on that evil day, and having done everything, to stand firm. Stand therefore, and fasten the belt of truth around your waist, and put on the breastplate of righteousness. As shoes for your feet put on whatever will make you ready to proclaim the gospel of peace. With all of these, take the shield of faith, with which you will be able to quench all the flaming arrows of the evil one. Take the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God."

Paul says we must put on the armor of God, an armor made available to us through our shield of faith. With the breastplate of righteousness and the sword of the Spirit to defend us, we will be able to conquer the enemy--the spiritual forces of evil. Every single thing Paul has listed here is something intangible; in other words, he is giving us metaphors for ideas. Righteousness is an idea, but we certainly know what it looks like when we encounter it. The same is true for what Paul calls the opposite of righteousness, those spiritual forces of evil. In the inner landscapes of our souls, we know what it feels like to engage in the kind of battle that Paul is describing. Although those who are physically near us may never guess what is going on deep inside us, the crusade for righteousness can be an ongoing struggle we undertake on a daily basis. When we ask for the Lord's assistance on the battlefield, our quest for peace is more easily accomplished.

In today's gospel lesson, some of the disciples can't comprehend the ideas the Lord is speaking of. Jesus says, "Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood abide in me, and I in them. Just as the living Father sent me, and I live because of the Father, so whoever eats me will live because of me." Some disciples are disturbed by these words and say, "This teaching is difficult; who can accept it?" Taken literally, as the disciples hear it, these are hard words to submit to. But Jesus goes on to say, "It is the spirit that gives life; the flesh is useless. The words that I have spoken to you are spirit and life." He asks us to ingest his Spirit, to make the Spirit of God part of our inner being, part of every fiber of our bodies, so that we know without doubt that He abides within us. Paul speaks of armor and swords when he tells us to take the Spirit with us. Jesus uses a more universal idea, something that men, women, and children should all understand: the Spirit of the Lord is as much a part of us as the food we eat, and it is also as necessary as bread to our very existence. We are the houses of God, and the kitchens and the bread boxes, too.

Earlier I said that there is very little physical evidence of the existence of King Arthur, and yet many of us choose to believe there was such a man. Considered a great king, he has been called the Once and Future King since the British people held out hope that he would return someday to save them, just when they needed him the most. For similar reasons, Jesus of Nazareth can also be called the Once and Future King. There is a great deal of corroborating evidence that the man known as Jesus did in fact live and establish a movement that has spread all over the world. Arthur himself came under the sway of Christ the King, and all of Arthur's noble ideas reflect his Christian principles.

Jesus Christ expressed a few really important ideas, but since they are ideas, and therefore intangible, we humans find ways to doubt and question them. Are they really so hard to believe? Mercy and forgiveness, healing and protection come from God. When we seek God, our prayers are answered. God dwells within us as we dwell in him, in Spirit. God is love. All of us, if we try hard enough, can come up with personal examples of how these ideas of God have been manifested in our lives.

As it says in Hebrews 11:1: "Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen." Let us hold on to faith for dear life. Life is dear, isn't it? Thanks be to God!

Fathers and Sons

2009-08-11T17:38:00.000-07:00

Sermon for Sunday, August 9, 2009 Buck Mountain Church

Lessons:

2 Samuel 18: 5-9, 15, 31-33
Psalm 130
Ephesians 4:25-5:2
John 6:35, 41-51

We say history repeats itself, and there is, sadly, too much evidence of the truth behind that warning. I think what actually happens is that we humans continue making the same mistakes, from one relationship to the next, even from generation to generation, until we are finally willing to learn the lessons life so readily provides us. The learning of those lessons may, in fact, be the substance of what makes life worth living. Unfortunately, sometimes it seems that we have to be beaten over the head by our issues before we take notice of them. Until we become aware of the need for change, change cannot happen. As Robert Frost put it, "Our very life depends on everything's/ recurring till we answer from within."

Parents, either as role models or as guides, can be the most powerful teachers we ever have. As I sat down to work on this sermon on Wednesday evening, I received a collect phone call from the young man I correspond with in prison. J. is 26 now, and he has been in prison since he was 18 for doing something pretty dumb on his 18th birthday. If he had still been 17 or had been fortunate enough to have a more merciful judge, he would have been out of prison 4 years ago. As his luck would have it, he was given 22 years in prison, while his partner in crime, who did exactly the same thing J. did, received a reasonable 3 year sentence from a different judge. J. is a bright young man, with a caring heart and an inquiring mind. He is taking college classes by correspondense and tutoring his fellow inmates. Our letters and conversations often center around matters of conscience, of religion and spirituality.

Knowing that I would be working on this sermon, I asked J. about his father and their relationship. He simply said that he misses his dad and is grateful for having the father he had. J.'s father, who left him and his mother when he was a boy, has died while J. has been in prison, and I fear there was never a peaceful closure to issues between the father and son. I have known J.'s mother for years, so I have my own perspective on this young man's tragic circumstances, and I believe J.'s reckless behavior can, at least in part, be traced to his need to get his father's attention. In his young eyes, his dad, who told stories of his own youth as a rabblerouser, must have seemed like a larger-than-life hero. The more J. tried to impress his dad, the more his dad rejected him, or so it seems to me. Now with his father dead and J. lingering in prison, that wounded relationship will never have a chance to heal.

Father and son. How many stories have been passed down through the ages about that powerful, primal relationship? There are expectations on both sides that can be impossible to meet. Our story today from 2nd Samuel of the great King David and his rebellious son Absalom is a tragic example.

We continue the story of David, many years after last Sunday’s episode of a young king’s lust for the beautiful Bathsheba. As our vicar noted in her sermon last week, David admitted his guilt and accepted responsibility for his actions. His contrition and his status as the favored one resulted in God’s allowing him to remain king. God’s mercy towards David is good news for all of us. However, even though God showed mercy to David in the face of an egregious sin, the consequences of that sin played themselves out in succeeding events. Sin has a way of creating its own punishment. The fabled apple, as we know, does not fall far from the tree.

Years have passed, and David is now an old king, with many grown children by different wives. That sounds like potential trouble, doesn’t it? His eldest son Amnon becomes obsessed with lust for his half-sister Tamar, and he schemes to get her. After he traps and rapes her, Amnon is filled with disgust for her and sends her away in disgrace. Absalom is her full brother, and, outraged on Tamar’s behalf, he vows to get revenge on Amnon. Their father David does nothing to intervene.

You might assume that Absalom would simply storm off and beat up his brother Amnon, but that is not Absalom’s way of doing things. For two years he stews in secrecy, then invites Amnon to his house for dinner, where Absalom orders his servants to kill the honored guest, who also happens to be his brother and the king’s son. After committing this crime, Absalom leaves the country for three years, but David, who misses him, is convinced to let him return to Jerusalem.

Then Absalom, who is described as being the most handsome man in all of Israel, a man much beloved by the people, plots to overthrow his aging father and grab the throne for himself, and he nearly succeeds. Our lesson today joins the story at this point, when David’s generals are heading out to pursue the rebellious prince. In the hearing of others, the old king gives these orders to Joab and Abishai and Ittai: “Deal gently for my sake with the young man Absalom.” But Absalom’s pride will prove to be his ironic downfall. His long, thick, beautiful hair is caught in tree branches as he rides his mule beneath them, and he is left hanging there by his hair. That’s where Joab and his armor-bearers find Absalom and deal with him in the traditional way for those who are considered traitors: they kill him without qualms.

Surely David, that old warrior, should not have been surprised. Yet he grieves mightily for his lost son, more than we see him grieve for the death of the child born to Bathsheba. Maybe he now fully recognizes the wages of his own sin, the way the consequences of his past have moved out around him over the years like concentric circles, like waves moving outward from the source of their disturbance.

The scene of David’s grief is for me one of the most touching scenes in the Old Testament: ‘The king was deeply moved, and went up to the chamber over the gate, and wept; and as he went, he said, "O my son Absalom, my son, my son Absalom! Would I had died instead of you, O Absalom, my son, my son!"’ Like the endlessly forgiving father in Jesus's parable of the prodigal son, David doesn't care that his son betrayed him; all he sees is that a promising young life has been wasted. If he could have had one more chance to speak to Absalom, he might have used words very like St. Paul's words in today's letter to the Ephesians: "Put away from you all bitterness and wrath and anger and wrangling and slander, together with all malice, and be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ has forgiven you." Absalom's downfall began with justified anger towards his brother, but that anger consumed him and transformed into arrogance and contempt for his father and the law.

Those words of David, grieving his lost son, "Absalom, Absalom," were used by William Faulkner as the title of the novel that I believe is his masterpiece. As usual with Faulkner's work, the novel is a complicated, multi-layered story, set as a conversation between two young men, sitting in their dorm room at Harvard and trying to make sense of Southern history. Quentin Compson, who is also a main character in The Sound and the Fury, tells the story of Thomas Sutpen, a Mississippi plantation owner who made a fortune by crooked speculation during the post-Civil War years. Sutpen's ill-gotten fortune and his family are destroyed by a conflict between his two sons--half-brothers, one white and the other black. The tragedy of brother in enmity with brother and the failures of their father match the biblical archetype of the story of David and Absalom. History repeats itself in such enmity. But hatred and division are not part of God's plan for us. The children of mankind are intended by our heavenly father to live in peace with one another.

Whether it is between a father and son, or mother and daughter, or father and daughter, or mother and son, the relationship between a parent and a child is, to say the least, a complicated thing. Very few of us manage to play our role flawlessly, on either side of the relationship coin. I cringe when I think of the ways I disappointed my parents or failed my son.

But it is this very relationship of parent and child that the Lord God of the Universe chose to enter. There is much for us to learn from the way God embodies both roles. Explaining the Trinity is beyond my abilities, but at the very least, when we speak of the Father and Son, we are supposed to think of them as one being. Last winter, a friend of mine from my spiritual direction class who is the youth pastor at her church told me a child’s explanation for the Trinity. The child said to her that speaking of God as Father, Son, and Holy Spirit reminded him of the way his mother was several different people in one. She was the daughter of his grandma and the sister of his aunt as well as his mother. I like that explanation as well as any I’ve ever heard. The prism through which we view God determines what we see and experience of the Divine.

So what does Jesus show us about God? God chooses to enter our world as one of us, as a weak and helpless infant born to a family of modest means, and in so doing, he shows us we are in no way separate from Him. Jesus, the incarnation of the Father, is our brother. He usually speaks of himself as "the son of man." He also says he is the bread of life, "the bread that comes down from heaven, so that one may eat of it and not die." Bread is the most basic of foods, and grain is often the one crop or commodity that keeps poor people from starving. Jesus knew that those listening to him would understand the fundamental connection between bread and life. Going without bread for many people could mean death. Jesus is saying that what God has to offer is not something imaginary or expensive or hard to find, but something very much a necessary part of everyday life.

Jesus also tells us that all we have to do to receive this bread from God is ask. "So I say to you, ask and it will be given you; search and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you... 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, who are evil, 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!" [Luke 11: 9-13]

When our earthly relationships fail us, as they are bound to do from time to time, we need but turn towards God for what we seek. That divine spark of the eternal that resides in Jesus Christ also resides in us; we are his brothers and sisters, the children of a Father who will not fail us. The lovely collect for today offers the prayer we seekers need: "Grant to us, Lord, we pray, the spirit to think and do always those things that are right, that we, who cannot exist without you, may by you be enabled to live according to your will; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen."

Susan Hull

The Body and the Bread

2009-08-11T17:36:00.000-07:00

Sermon for Sunday, July 26, 2009 Graves Chapel

Lessons for this day: Psalm 145; Ephesians 3:14-21; John 6:1-21

St. Paul writes of the the Lord's "power at work within us" as a force beyond our human ability to imagine or explain, a mystery to us humans, but something we feel nonetheless. This feeling that Christ is dwelling in our hearts Paul calls "the fullness of God." I think it is probably true that all Christians seek to experience that kind of "fullness," but I think it is also true that we don't always know how to achieve it. The indescribable mystery of it makes such a connection to Christ seem unattainable to too many people. I don't believe Christ ever intended for us to have such a hard time experiencing his nearness to us. In so many of the stories about him and in his words, he shows us the way.

This past Wednesday, July 22nd, was the saint's day for Mary Magdalene. Setting aside the recent sensational speculation about her in The DaVinci Code and other such books, we do know that Mary Magdelene was a very important figure in Christ's life. With the exception of Mary his mother, Mary Magdalene is the only woman mentioned in all four gospels. She follows him to the foot of the cross, staying with him until he dies, something most of his male disciples failed to do. On the third day, she rises early to go to his tomb and tend to his lifeless body, and in doing so, she becomes the first one to see the risen Lord. She has been called "the apostle to the apostles" since she hastens to obey Christ's instructions to her, that she should go and tell the others what she has seen. Through her tears and fear, Mary Magdalene cannot at first recognize the Lord, but she knows who he is when she hears him say her name: "Mary." In the gentle tenderness and sweet intimacy of that recognition, we can see and feel the tender nature of the love the Lord has for all of us. Mary Magdalene models what it means to have a relationship with Christ. Knowing that we are known by the Lord, that we are graced and embraced by God's love, and trusting in that love is all we need. That is the fullness of God.

Paul says that in this fullness, we are "rooted and grounded in love" as Christ dwells in our hearts by faith. To be grounded is to be "well-balanced and sensible" according to my Oxford American dictionary. Being grounded suggests having one's feet firmly planted. There is nothing silly or fanciful about grounding; being grounded is just plain common sense. Today's gospel lesson from John illustrates a way in which the Lord offers His very practical kind of grounding. In the story of the feeding of the 5000, Jesus instructs the people to sit on the ground in small groups so that they may be fed.

Hearing this story, we may get caught up in the miracle of it--how Jesus is able to take the five barley loaves and two fish and transform them into such an abundance of food that all 5000 people are plentifully fed and twelve baskets of food are left over. That is indeed a miracle, but it is first and foremost a response to a pressing human need. Let's look at what doesn't happen. Seeing that huge crowd of people, Jesus does not say, "Whoa, that's a lot of people out there, and they seem to really dig me. I wonder what I can get from them? Maybe I should call my agent and the marketing staff and see what we can sell them. I wonder if anyone would be interested in buying bottles of water from the Sea of Galilee? " No, Jesus does not allow the adoration of the multitude to stroke his ego or ignite his greed. Instead of looking at the crowd and wondering what they can do for him, he sees their need and seeks to help them and provide for them.
Nor does he shirk his responsibility. He doesn't sneak out the back way to avoid dealing with the situation. When Philip says, "Six months wages would not buy enough bread for each of them to get a little," Jesus doesn't throw up his hands and shriek. After he hears from Andrew about the boy's fish and bread, Jesus simply says, "Make the people sit down." So, all of these many people are asked to be seated in small groups, where they can join together in the shared intimate experience of being fed by the Lord. Jesus reveals his power here, but not in the ways we might expect worldly power to be revealed. His power is found in the fullness of the love he shows his flock by feeding them abundantly.

Nowadays, when we Christians come to the altar to receive communion, we are reenacting Jesus's feeding of the 5000. What does that mean? Like the multitudes who craved the teaching of the Lord, we seek Him out on Sunday mornings. Whatever our backgrounds and differences may be, we join together as we move forward to kneel and receive the bread and the wine. And he fills us. As shocking as Christ's word are about our eating his flesh and drinking his blood, what we receive there is assurance of his love for us. Our ingesting of the bread and wine is a symbolic ingesting of the Lord himself. We physically and spiritually take him into our bodies and allow the Lord to live in us. In this way, he comes to dwell in our hearts. He lives in us, as we live in him. Literally!

Now, as a former high school English teacher, I think I'd better explain what I mean when I say "literally." I have certainly had occasion to point out to students who say such things as "It is literally raining cats and dogs" that poodles and long-haired persian cats are not, in fact, falling from the sky. The expression, "raining cats and dogs" is a figure of speech, of course, and things said figuratively are the opposite of things expressed literally. When I use the term literally, I mean to emphasize that what I have said is factually true. For something as highly symbolic, moving, and meaningful as the service of holy eucharist, I do not take my use of "literally" lightly at all. Ever since that first breaking of bread with the disciples, on that last night in the upper room, when Jesus gave to us the words we still use in our communion services,
we Christians have believed the Lord's promise that he becomes one with us in the eating of the bread and the drinking of the wine. The intention of the symbolism is to present the literal truth that Christ, in spirit and in power, enters our bodies and abides within us always. As the priest says:
"On the night he was handed over to suffering and death, our Lord Jesus Christ took bread; and when he had given thanks to you, he broke it, and gave it to his disciples, and said, “Take, eat: This is my Body, which is given for you. Do this for the remembrance of me.”

"After supper he took the cup of wine; and when he had given thanks, he gave it to them, and said, “Drink this, all of you: This is my Blood of the new Covenant, which is shed for you and for many for the forgiveness of sins. Whenever you drink it, do this for the remembrance of me.”

The service of communion is a reminder to us that, since the spirit of the living Christ abides in each of us, then we are truly all one with each other as well as with the Lord. Is there any better way to illustrate that truth than by having us share a meal together as members of the same family? As thousands are fed in communion services here in our country and around the world on Sunday mornings, so the five thousand assembled in groups on a hillside above the Sea of Galilee were fed so many years ago by the Lord himself.

I think Jesus's instructions for the sharing of holy communion go beyond the symbolism of the service itself, however. He repeatedly said to the disciples, "Feed my sheep." Throughout the gospels, he instructs his followers to provide food and care for the poor and hungry. In the epistle of James, attributed to James of Jerusalem, believed to have been the brother of Jesus himself, James gets right to the point. "What good is it, my brothers and sisters, if you say you have faith but do not have works? Can faith save you? If a brother or sister is naked and lacks daily food, and one of you says to them, 'Go in peace, keep warm, and eat your fill,' and yet you do not supply their bodily needs, what is the good of that? So faith, by itself, if it has no works, is dead." In our society, where greed and consumerism are celebrated and honored, sometimes we are afraid to share what we have with others. Giving up some of our plenty for the aid of others goes against the grain. The story of the feeding of the 5000 should allay our fears; as Christ both shows and assures us, the more we give, the more we will be given. The fullness of the Lord is abundance and abundant love.

Susan Hull

No Need to Fear

2009-08-11T17:33:00.000-07:00

Sermon for Sunday, June 28, 2009

Psalm 30 Wisdom of Solomon 1:13-15; 2: 23-24 Mark 5: 21-43

The little girl being brought back to life by Jesus is a favorite resurrection story for many Christians, for good reason. The death of any child is a great tragedy. The child's father Jairus was a leader of the synagogue, the kind of official who might ordinarily scorn Jesus and call him a false prophet, but when it came to saving his own child's life, Jairus was willing to take a chance with the carpenter's son from Galilee. As they neared his home, Jesus assured him, "Do not fear; only believe." The desperate faith of Jairus was rewarded most spectacularly when his little daughter rose from her deathbed and began to walk about. We would like to assume that this miracle transformed Jairus into a confirmed believer. His terrifying experience with death had a happy ending.

Today's lesson from the Wisdom of Solomon has a few definitive things to say about death, the most important of which is "God did not make death, and he does not delight in the death of the living." The world we inhabit is full of death and full of people who say that others deserve death, in their eyes. This verse suggests that God thinks no such thing, "For he created all things so that they might exist." Wisdom tells us, "the generative forces of the world are wholesome," for "righteousness is immortal." God's intention for us, as for all living creatures, is to live in joy and abundance, "in the image of his own eternity." How did things go so wrong for humankind? This particular biblical chapter provides a curious answer: "Through the devil’s envy death entered the world, and those who belong to his company experience it."

I know the phrase "the devil's envy" sounds like the serpent in the garden and that old explanation for how Death entered the world. But the part that I find especially interesting is the suggestion that death is an experience. I decided it might be useful to look at the long section of Wisdom left out of today's lesson, the verses from 1:15 to 2:23, to see how or why the unrighteous experience death in a way the righteous do not. What I found out, not too surprisingly, is that the experience is a matter of attitude.

In that long section of verses, the faulty reasoning of unrighteous people is exposed. Such people tend to see their lives as too short and unhappy; they envy others who seem more blessed than they. They grasp onto everything with both hands, trampling anyone who gets in their way. They don't care if they harm others; they only care about themselves and their stuff. How is this an experience of death? Every day of self-centered living, of hording blessings, is governed by fear. That kind of joy-destroying fear robs a person of all that makes life worth living. When we are self-preoccupied, when our needs and selfhood have primary importance for us, then the loss of self, what we understand as death, will be the ultimate fear. In that fear, we experience death.

Can you think of people who seem to value the lives of others more than they value their own? No, better yet, think of how you feel that kind of love for someone very dear to you: a child, a spouse, a close friend. As you consider with gratitude all of the ways this person enriches your life, you know that you would do anything for this beloved one. That is the kind of sacrifice that the Lord has made for us, and it is the kind of love that makes death meaningless. When we live our lives fully in generous community with one another, we will never experience death in the way a self-centered person will. We will not succumb to fear because we know the self is not important and cannot be lost even in physical death.

I want to make sure what I am saying is clear. Of course I will die someday. But if I truly believe in the eternal life Christ offers me, there is no reason for me to fear death. Remember what Jesus said to Jairus: "Do not fear; only believe." On the occasions when he raises others from the dead and in his own death and resurrection, Jesus shows us the way to enter a life after death with a promise of hope.

I may feel this way because I was at the bedside of my mother and both of her sisters when they died. For all three of them, it was such a peaceful passing and such a blessing. At the time, I had no doubt they would be with the Lord. All three of them were women of strong faith and kind and loving hearts. Not one of them had a mean or selfish bone in her body; they were the most generous people I've ever known. Putting God and others first, then, must be the way to embrace a full experience of life, an experience that cancels out both fear and death.

Maybe we are supposed to understand that death, as a transition to another state of being, is simply one part of life. This is especially obvious in the natural world. Since our passage from Wisdom says God "created all things that they might exist," we may well wonder why some animals are born predators and some are born to be preyed upon. We humans may fear our own deaths, but we can be very careless about the lives of the creatures who share our planet.

I want to tell you a story about my box turtle friend. Every summer since I've lived in my current house, and that's now ten years, a small box turtle makes an appearance in my yard. She has very distinctive yellow marks on her shell, and the back of it is missing a piece, as if someone tore off the hem of a skirt.

Early last summer, I had out my riding mower, and as I mowed the too-tall grass, I hit something hard, what I thought was a stick. Later, in that part of the yard, my dog found the remains of a box turtle. I was devastated at the idea that I had killed my old friend. As I felt almost paralyzed by the thought of harming a small creature, I reflected about what kind of lesson I could learn.

That's when I had to admit to myself that I didn't like the image of myself as a killer, even when the killing was accidental. I wanted to be able to think of myself as being a better person than that. I also wanted to be able to believe I had some control over such things, but I had to admit that any control I have over the world around me is an illusion. Life and death are pretty much out of my hands. That was a sobering thought.

A few days later, I got up early on the morning of a day that promised to be very hot so that I could water my garden. As I lifted my watering can above a marigold, I saw underneath the bright yellow flowers my old friend the box turtle, alive and well. I realized I had killed another poor turtle that had found its way into my yard, and although I still regretted it, I was immensely relieved and grateful to see my old friend unharmed. To my earlier understanding that I have no control over life and death, I was able to add the great consolation: God does! My turtle became a witness of resurrection for me.

Now, a new mowing season has begun. Two weeks ago, before I got out my mower, I scouted around my rose and lilac bushes to make sure no small creature was in harm's way. The grass was very tall after all the rain we've had, and I started my usual route around the lower edge of my lawn, where the woods meet the grass. Near a brush pile, my mower blade engaged with something low and hard, and having run over a box turtle last summer, I had the sickening feeling that I had just killed another one. The next time around the yard, I stopped and found the shattered pieces of a turtle. I was very afraid that I really had killed my old friend this time. I felt, once again, like a murderer, and I had to revisit last year's event, wondering what the message was for me this time around. I started to feel like Typhoid Mary, as if I have a special gift for inadvertently causing harm to others.

Over the next few days, I worked my way toward thinking that God wants me to fully grasp the idea that death is not the final word. In the wildness of nature, life and death go hand in hand. The prophet Isaiah must have pondered this very thought when he wrote his peaceable kingdom parable, setting things to rights between lions and lambs. We caring humans don't wish to see or participate in any suffering or destruction, and we would like to see some reason for it, but the final conclusion is that death is simply one part of life. It is a passage from one chapter of life to another.

On Thursday night, exactly a week, almost to the hour, when I killed the turtle, my resurrection turtle appeared again in my flower bed. I dubbed her Mary Magdalene last summer when she opened my eyes to redemptive grace, and there she was again.

As Psalm 30 so beautifully says, "Weeping may spend the night, but joy comes in the morning." Gratitude is the only appropriate response to a resurrection, and in the many twists and turns of life, in illness and in healing (as with the woman who touched the hem of Christ's cloak and was given a new life), we are offered such resurrection experiences over and over again. We may all feel secure in taking a chance with the carpenter's son from Galilee.

Life abides indeed!

Susan Hull

"The Word Is Very Near You"

2009-08-11T17:30:00.000-07:00

Sermon for Sunday, May 24, 2009 Easter 7

Acts 1:15-17, 21-26; Psalm 1; John 17: 6-19

"In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God." So begins the Gospel of John, reflecting the first chapter of Genesis, where God manifests his power by bringing all of creation into existence simply by speaking the Words. Where God lives, what God looks like--these things are ultimately a profound mystery, and that mystery reminds us of our human limitations. There are very few things we can presume to know about God, but one thing we do know is that God comes to us in the spoken and the written word and in the living word of Jesus, the Word made flesh.

In that beautiful story of Creation, God is said to have made humans in his own image. We like to say that our ability to speak, our way with words, is what separates us from animals. Is it not then also true that our use of language makes us more like God? Unfortunately, humans are just as likely to misuse our gift with language as to use it in the Lord's service. The very Words of Scripture have been argued over and invoked to justify a host of sins, including the institution of slavery. Sometimes the misuse of Scripture has been a result of over-zealous righteousness or simple misinterpretation. The Words of God have great power and are to be used with a caution guided by prayer. The ability to use words may make us more like God, but it doesn't give us the mind of God, to know all of what God intends. Using scripture like a crow bar or a Ouiji board would most likely not reflect the will of God. A little more discernment is called for.

One of the most influential sayings of Jesus certainly must be "Many are called, but few are chosen. " [Matthew 22:14] The adherents of predestination, such as John Calvin, used the idea they believed to be put forward in this verse to suggest that only a very select few would be allowed by God to enter the kingdom of heaven. These elected ones were predetermined by God before they were born, and no one else, no matter how well they lived their lives, would qualify for salvation, according to the Calvinists.

Just try to imagine the behavior of those who believed themselves to be among the elect. Imagine how they may have treated those they considered God's rejects. If you can carry those thoughts to a conclusion, what you end up with is something like the Salem witch trials.
Last Sunday I was at my spiritual direction class at Richmond Hill, and the Episcopal priest in charge there, who is also a biblical scholar and a faculty member of the RUAH School, preached on this very line from scripture. The Rev. Ben Campbell told us that this verse has been mistranslated and misinterpreted down through the ages. He said that a better translation of the verse would be "Many are called, but few choose to go." Whether we find the salvation we seek and the heavenly rest we may think we deserve depends on our willingness to go where we are called. The invitation is ours; do we accept it or not? When there is work and sacrifice involved in accepting the invitation, we may prefer to stay home. But that choice is ours; God does not exclude us.

The story for today from the Acts of the Apostles offers an example of someone being chosen to the exclusion of someone else. Peter leads the apostles as they make a decision regarding which of the remaining followers of Jesus will be chosen to replace Judas among the Twelve. Lots are drawn between two worthy candidates, "and the lot fell on Matthias, and he was added to the eleven apostles." Have you ever wondered what happened to Joseph called Barsabbas? We have all had experiences of being left out, of being the ones not elected for some position, of being the last ones picked for a side of softball, or simply being rejected outright for something we have set our hearts upon. Not being chosen feels a lot like not being loved, and we may feel unworthy of even God's love. I have thought maybe Barsabbas felt humiliated and rejected as the one NOT chosen to join the apostles. He may, however, have felt relieved with the way the lot fell and preferred to go on with whatever ministry he was already performing. I think it is my post-predestination sensivity that has me worried about the feelings of Barsabbas.

Still, for whatever tasks we undertake, we are called to choose our Words very carefully when we, as Christians, represent the Lord in the world. Loving, or even liking, those who seem very different from us may be difficult, but we are asked to show love in our words and our deeds even when we don't yet feel it. If God intended to offer salvation to all, and not just to a select few, then we are asked to wear a face of welcome and invitation to everyone we encounter. In today's lesson from John, we hear that Christ knew there were no exceptions to God's love, no ones to be left behind. He says in his prayer to God, "All mine are yours and yours are mine." Christ is praying over the apostles as He takes his final leave from them. He is sending them out into the world to spread the Word, and he wants to be sure they are ready. He asks God to protect them. Listen to what he says: "I have made your name known to those whom you gave me from the world. They were yours, and you gave them to me, and they have kept your Word. Now they know that everything you have given me is from you; for the words that you gave to me I have given to them...Holy Father, protect them in your name... Sanctify them in the truth; your word is truth. As you have sent me into the world, so I have sent them into the world. And for their sakes I sanctify myself, so that they may also be sanctified in truth." Here Jesus says that he has given his disciples the Words of God, and that these words are truth and power. He says that in hearing and obeying the words, the disciples have proven their faithfulness. As he takes leave from them, Jesus entrusts the disciples with using the Word wisely, in truth and love.

Thursday, May 21st was Ascension Day, commemorating Christ's removal from this world. Even as he left the disciples behind and prayed for their mission, he promised to leave the Advocate with them--the Spirit. An Advocate is someone who takes your side and pleads on your behalf. An Advocate is a guide and a companion. By specifically saying he would remain with the disciples in spirit and truth, he asked them to pay attention to their inward inclinations. Examining our hearts and listening attentively for the word of God is the basic task for all of us who call ourselves Christian. In the gospel events when we see Jesus interacting with people, teaching or healing them, in every case he asks them to examine their inward leanings. [the rich young man, the woman at the well, the blind and the lame, etc.] From such inner searching comes humility, a true perspective on the nature of our relationship with God, and the Way to a life worth living.

Once, when I was a teenager and in a situation that wasn't clear to me at the time but turned out to be a matter of life or death, I had the experience of God speaking to me. I heard those words in my heart, in a strong and commanding voice that overrode the usual confused chatter in the teenage brain. Later, when I fully understood what had happened, I knew I had heard the voice of God, and my faith was sealed. I have never heard that voice so clearly since then, but I believe I hear from God in quieter ways, in my thoughts and dreams, whenever I pay attention. Whether I pay attention or not is my choice.

When Moses was laying down the law for the people, as recorded in the book of Deuteronomy, he said, "The Word is very near you; it is in your mouth and in your heart, so that you can do it." He told them they didn't have to wait for God to come down from heaven and show them the way. He didn't want any more excuses from them for bad behavior. Like Jesus so many years later, Moses wanted the people to know that the Spirit of God was always within them, ready to guide and console them.

In this way, the Spirit is within us as well. We can listen for that "still small voice" whenever we choose.

Susan Hull

Everyday Miracles

2009-08-11T17:27:00.000-07:00

Sermon for April 26, 2009

We are called Easter people, we Christians. Easter, the celebration of Christ's resurrection, is the defining event of our faith. Jesus, the carpenter from Nazareth, has died as the Crucified one, the Christ, to show us the way to newness of life. Because of His resurrection, no death is final. As dogwoods and redbuds bloom in tapestry, as the trees leaf out in tender green, it is easy to be reminded of rebirth and new beginnings. Perhaps the bright yellow goldfinches at my bird feeder provide an illustration closer to our human experience. As we often find ourselves in need of transformation after enduring a difficult stretch of time, the goldfinches shake off the drab grayish-green feathers they have worn during the weary winter months and adorn themselves with the very brightness of spring. Life is challenging, and bad things happen. Pain and suffering are an unavoidable part of the fabric of life. But we Easter people know that every loss, every ending, is followed by an open door. The stone rolled away from the tomb is the promise of that.

For the disciples of Jesus, we who gather here as well as the apostles who were with him and witnessed his death, the open door to a new beginning could be obscure. The apostles did not believe Mary Magdalene when she told them she had seen the risen Lord. On the occasions when he appeared among them, as in today's lesson from John, they did not believe their own eyes, and were, as it says, "disbelieving and still wondering." I think it is a shame that Thomas, who was absent for the first appearance of the resurrected Lord, has been disparaged as a doubter down through the ages. He simply said outright what the others must have been thinking: "Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe." Thanks to the skepticism of Thomas, everyone else is allowed to see the physical evidence all doubters seem to require.

In today's reading from the Book of the Acts of the Apostles, Peter is well aware of the doubting astonishment in the crowd before him, people who have just seen a lame man healed in the name of Jesus Christ. He says to them, "...you rejected the Holy and Righteous One and asked to have a murderer given to you, and you killed the Author of life, whom God raised from the dead. To this we are witnesses. And by faith in his name, his name itself has made this man strong, whom you see and know; and the faith that is through Jesus has given him this perfect health in the presence of all of you." What is Peter saying to us, here and now? We have our doubts and fears; faith is a steady unwavering stream for very few Christians. Like Thomas, we may feel the need of physical evidence that the Lord is with us.

Peter calls Jesus "the Author of Life." An author is someone who creates with great care. As co-creator with God, Jesus has fashioned with love a world marked by glorious abundance, such a bounty of blessing that much of it often goes unnoticed and unappreciated. When I can bring myself to full awareness of the wonders around me, I see how the Lord is always trying to get my attention, like a child waving his arms and saying, "Look at me."

Sometimes he sends a goldfinch darting across my line of vision, and then I am reminded that the Author of Life continues to make all things new and glorious through his redeeming love.
Peter says that he and the other apostles are "witnesses" to the resurrection. Maybe it is hard for us to make that claim. We were not in the room with Thomas and the other apostles. But I have certainly witnessed many resurrections over the years. We humans have setbacks or endure hardship, illness or job loss or divorce. We lose the ones we love dearly and suffer the great pain of grief. Somehow, we move forward through our sorrow as we might travel through a dark forest, afraid to take the next step but taking it anyway. Without our conscious awareness of His guiding presence, the Lord moves us forward. The veil of sadness begins to lift and we are consoled. Maybe then we will express our gratitude to the One who has seen us through what felt like a kind of death. More likely, we will simply walk through the open door.
Inasmuch as each day can be a new beginning, the opportunity for resurrection is always offered to us.

Here in Graves Mill, we are approaching the 14th anniversary of the great flood. If you were not around to experience the flood or its aftermath, I will try to give you an idea of what it was like. To begin--it rained 23 inches in 24 hours over this valley. Right down the little hill from here, where the Kinsey Run joins the Rapidan, the village of Graves Mill was simply washed away: the post office, a two-bay garage, an old blacksmith's shop, the voting house, and two old store buildings just disappeared. As the flood waters jumped the bend in the river and headed across the field toward the Estes place, my cousins who were there ran out the back door and up the hill to a barn. From that vantage point, they watched a tumultuous sea fill the valley. My cousin Dee told me that a flotilla of uprooted trees the size of an ocean liner swept down the waves. When it was over, the valley looked like a bombed out war zone. Some people said so much topsoil had been washed away that it would be impossible for anything to grow here again. And yet, by the following spring, the fields were green again. Down the sides of the mountains, gaping scars made by mud slides looked like wounds where a giant bear had raked its claws. Even those scars have healed over and disappeared. Now, that was a resurrection. It was also a miracle of healing.
Peter tells the astonished crowd, " the faith that is through Jesus has given [this formerly lame man] perfect health in the presence of all of you." I understand why people have a hard time putting their faith in the biblical healing miracles. We all know of someone who was in need of such a miracle, whose faithful life seemed to be deserving of such a miracle, but who died anyway. On the other hand, we also hear of people who are healed through prayer. Why does the process have to be such a mystery? I think the answer to that question may be that our idea of healing and the Lord's idea of healing are two different things. Healing can be an inner change of heart, an inner peacefulness granted by our closeness to God. It can be a fleeting moment of joy on a dreary day. It can be the mending of a broken relationship. It can be the restoration to life of a wounded and devastated landscape. Remember, in his death and resurrection, Christ made the kind of death we fear impossible. For the Lord, death itself can be a kind of healing for someone who is suffering in illness and pain. Death opens the door for the suffering into a new and grace-filled life.

Maybe the way for us to a better understanding of the Lord's miracles is to recognize the miraculous in every moment of our lives. Gratitude for the gifts of food and shelter and health that we take for granted, for the air we breathe and the loved ones we cherish can lead us to an appreciation of our very lives as miracles.Opening our eyes to natural wonders is a way to witness the Lord's generous hand at work all around us. Even though we humans crave the show-stoppers and question faith in a God who cannot produce such big miracles whenever we believe we need one, the Lord continues with miracle-making at every moment. We just need to be willing to see how God is always present in what we think of as the ordinary.

The gospel lesson today, with the resurrected Christ appearing to the astonished disciples, is the perfect demonstration of how the Lord joins us in our daily lives. When he first appears to them, saying, "Peace be with you, " they are completely dumbfounded and terrified that they are seeing a ghost. What is Christ's method of connecting with them and allaying their fears? He says, "Do you have anything to eat?" Ponder that for a moment. The Lord really does join with us in the breaking of the bread, and since breaking bread is something we do several times a day, he is indeed with us always. As he had prayed for the disciples in John 17, just before his arrest and crucifixion, he said, "As you, Father, are in me and I am in you, may they also be in us...so that the love with which you have loved me may be in them, and I in them."

As I believe in the Presence and pray for the nearness of God, it is good to be reminded that the Lord of the Universe is trustworthy and permeable, emanating from the warm hearth of my soul rather than from some distant galaxy. Goodness and love and kindness express themselves in the human desire for sharing the most basic of life's essentials: safe shelter and warm bread. As today's beautiful psalm suggests, we can pray in thanksgiving for our blessings: "You have put gladness in my heart, more than when grain and wine and oil increase. I lie down in peace; at once I fall asleep. For only you, Lord, make me dwell in safety." When we join hands at table or embrace heart to heart, the Lord's Spirit in me sings in chorus with the Spirit in you.

The Lord is risen indeed!
Alleluia!

Susan Hull

The Via Negativa

2009-08-11T17:25:00.000-07:00

Sermon for March 22, 2009

Today marks the mid-point in the season of Lent, a time of quiet preparation for both the sacrifice and the jubilance of Easter. The term Lent comes from an Old English word akin to length since this is the time of the year when days begin to lengthen. We all welcome the added hours of daylight and the greening of spring.

Some of you may, like me, be trying to observe the traditional Lenten practice of self-denial and self-discipline, and finding it to be a difficult challenge. If Lent is really supposed to be a time when we delve into our hearts and try to know ourselves better, then I have been successful at that in one aspect. I know I have a very difficult time giving up things I am attached to--like chocolate. I also realize that our Lenten practice could have a more serious objective than providing a test for our sweet tooth.

During these days of reflection, I have been reading about Lent, and I now think we are called to give up--to surrender--anything we are attached to that harms us. On that kind of scale, our attitudes are also weighed in the balance. If we are in the habit of beating ourselves up emotionally for every little mistake we make, we can give up that need to be mean to ourselves. If we indulge ourselves too often in impatience, anger, self-righteousness, or self-pity, we can give up those self-destructive behaviors for Lent. Now, that would be a real challenge, wouldn't it? The truth is, we would have a very hard time giving up anger, say, or self-pity if we have never even acknowledged to ourselves that such an attitude creates difficulties for us. Knowing ourselves that well takes a lot of self-examination. Thomas Merton once said that the task of knowing ourselves requires us to "become conscious that the person we think we are, here and now, is at best an impostor and a stranger. We must constantly question his motives and penetrate his disguises."

Most human beings would prefer to examine someone else's shortcomings than turn around and point an accusing finger toward ourselves. When we refuse to take a good look at our own faults or believe we are blame-free, that is denial. Denying the truth about ourselves will get us nowhere. Remember, Jesus had something to say about finding the speck in someone else's eye while ignoring the log in our own. In addition to saying we should not find fault with others, I think he meant to imply that the log blinds us to the truth we need to discover about ourselves.
In his letter to the Ephesians, Paul offers us the consolation we need when we think about the our numerous sins and prefer to avert our eyes from them. "All of us once lived ... in the passions of our flesh, following the desires of flesh and senses, and we were by nature children of wrath, like everyone else. God, who is rich in mercy, out of the great love with which he loved us even when we were dead through our trespasses, made us alive together with Christ...For by grace you have been saved through faith, and this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God--not the result of works, so that no one may boast." Accepting ourselves as we are, warts and all, takes a great deal of humility, and that much humility can be hard to come by. Rather than accept responsibility for who we are or what we have done, we generally find it easier to justify our own less-than-perfect choices by blaming someone else. Isn't that often the way of human nature? Lucky for us, we can turn to the Divine Nature of God when we finally get ready to let go of the sins we hold so dear.

Turning our shortcomings as well as our fears over to God is a process of surrender. Surrender is not a word or an action Americans generally wish to consider. Surrendering sounds really weak and cowardly. Only losers surrender, right? In so many ways from basketball bracketology to American Idol to the space race to waging war, we think we are supposed to fight to be number one. Losing is an appalling option for Americans. That sort of attitude only adds to the sense of tragedy so many of us feel as people around us right now are losing their jobs and their homes.
But spiritual surrender isn't about giving up or losing. It isn't about weakness or resigning ourselves to an unhappy fate. Spiritual surrender is about accepting that I lack the power to overcome my problems by myself and choosing to turn my weakness over to the One is who infinitely more powerful than I. When I consider all of the ways I have tried to force changes in myself or in others and failed every time, I understand that my will alone is not enough. When I, with humility, overcome my denial and accept the reality of my situation and my powerlessness, then I can let go and let God take care of it. In a state of denial, like an ostrich with her head in the sand, I cannot improve my life and move forward. Once I see myself honestly, and seek the Lord's healing help through surrender, I discover a new power--the power to change the things I can. I can certainly work to change my bad attitudes and self-defeating behaviors after I have finally acknowledged their existence!

In our Old Testament lesson today, the chosen people of Israel, under the leadership of Moses, were having a hard time identifying their bad attitudes. They were whining about the food. God sent poisonous serpents to get their attention, and it seems to have worked pretty quickly! (Snakes have that effect on most people.) God orders Moses to make a serpent of bronze and set it up on a pole so that the people can look at it and be healed of their snake bites. The serpent was lifted up above them to stand as a symbol of God's healing and forgiving grace.
In our gospel lesson, Jesus makes reference to that old history when he says, "Just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in him may have eternal life." Think about what He means here. He is looking ahead to the time when he will be lifted up to die a painful and humiliating death on the cross. As he moves toward Jerusalem and that bitter end, Jesus attempts to prepare his followers for what is to come. Knowing that such suffering is required of him, knowing where his path leads him, the Lord still moves forward. He is able to face his future with courage because he accepts it. He knows what is going to happen to him, but he also knows what will be on the other side of the suffering. And he surrenders to all of it. The way up--the way of the cross and salvation--is also the way down, into suffering.

The priest, teacher, and writer Henri Nouwen is one of my favorite spiritual writers, and I have been reading his book with daily lessons for Lent, Show Me the Way. Of this passage in John's gospel, Nouwen says, "Jesus presents to us the great mystery of the descending way. It is the way of suffering, but also the way to healing. It is the way of humiliation, but also the way to resurrection. It is the way of hiddenness, but also the way that leads to the light that will shine for all people. It is the way of persecution, oppression, martyrdom, and death, but also the way to the full disclosure of God's love...The 'lifting up' that Jesus speaks of refers both to his being raised up on the cross in total humiliation and to his being raised up from the dead in total glorification...You are probably wondering how, in imitation of Jesus, you are to find the descending way...Each one of us has to seek out his or her own descending way of love. That calls for much prayer, much patience, and much guidance."

There is an official Latin name for that descending way, and it dates back many years in church history. The via negativa was explored by the early church mystics, and St. John of the Cross wrote a famous treatise about it in the 16th century called The Dark Night of the Soul. This past Wednesday I gave a presentation on 20th century poet T.S. Eliot, who explored the via negativa in his long poem "East Coker." To Eliot, the descending way is a process of complete surrender to the darkness and the unknown--a way to get through the "cloud of unknowing" by immersing oneself in it. I like the words Eliot uses to express that kind of surrender:

"I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope
For hope would be hope for the wrong thing; wait without love,
For love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith
But the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting.
Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought:
So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing."

In these terms, surrender sounds very peaceful, doesn't it? So much of life in these troubling times seems like a struggle, but it doesn't have to be that way. Surrender is about letting go of the struggle. The descending way allows us to fall into the waiting, wide-stretched arms of the Lord. There, as the mystic Dame Julian of Norwich said, "All shall be well and all shall be well and all manner of thing shall be well."

Susan Hull

Sermon for February 22, 2009

2009-08-11T17:23:00.000-07:00

Sermon for the Last Sunday after the Epiphany, February 22, 2009

These are hard times, the hardest times most of us have ever seen. People are losing their jobs and their homes, and there are dire predictions about the months ahead. Every family seems to have been touched in some way by this economic crisis. As difficult as these times are, maybe they will serve the purpose of reminding us what is really important in life and bring us together in new ways. One of my friends told me that she had assured her grown children, "As long as one of us has a house, we all have a house."

The collect for today asks for the Lord's help as we try to be changed into his likeness, and I think these hard times may offer us the very crucible we need for such a transfiguration. Looking and acting like the Lord may not be a high priority for most Americans when times are good. When we have ready money, we get busy with the business of life, spending our time, energy, and wealth as we pursue our life's dreams. And there is nothing really wrong with that, I guess, if we can juggle all of that spending and the Lord's work at the same time. It's probably just a matter of focusing our attention; however, the heavy losses people are now suffering will offer us both time and incentive to change our focus and simplify our lives.

I know that is easier said than done, of course, and I also know it is nearly impossible to feel hope or a sense of purpose when you are living in what feels like disaster. At such a time, we may find ourselves praying harder than we ever have, and we may wonder if God will answer our prayers. All of today's lessons speak to the issue of seeking God and hearing what he has to say.

In the lesson from 1st Kings, the prophet Elijah is under duress. He has done the tasks the Lord appointed for him, but in accomplishing the Lord's mission, Elijah has angered Queen Jezebel, who would very much like to be "rid of this troublesome priest." He has fled to Horeb, the holy mountain of God, and there Elijah does hear the Lord instructing him to make himself ready. As Elijah stands expectantly on the mountainside, "Now there was a great wind, so strong that it was splitting mountains and breaking rocks in pieces before the LORD, but the LORD was not in the wind; and after the wind an earthquake, but the LORD was not in the earthquake; and after the earthquake a fire, but the LORD was not in the fire; and after the fire a sound of sheer silence." It is in the sound of sheer silence that Elijah can finally hear what has also been called, "the still, small voice of God."

It seems to me that the tumult of rock-splitting wind, of earthquake, and of fire could be a metaphor for the inner turmoil Elijah was experiencing. If that is the case, the lesson here is clear: if we really want to hear what the Lord has to say to us when we are most afraid, then we first have to still our emotions and settle our hearts. Once we are in that quieter, more peaceful state, we will be better able to listen to that still, small voice of reason and hope the Lord offers us. We have to make ourselves ready, as Elijah did, to receive the Word.

There are echoes of this instruction in today's psalm, Psalm 27: "You speak in my heart and say, 'Seek my face.' Your face, LORD, will I seek." In the quietness of our very hearts, the Lord will speak to us, if we are patient and attentive enough to hear. The psalm ends with these sweet words: "O tarry and await the LORD'S pleasure; be strong, and he shall comfort your heart; wait patiently for the LORD."

I have a habit of saving old issues of the Episcopal daily reader, Forward Day by Day. In the issue from February of 1994, I found this story by an anonymous writer: "It is easy to see God in a church. But God is in other places, too. I remember a time when I was observing a therapist working with a young woman who was having a psychotic episode. She was trapped in a nightmarish delusion and couldn't get back by herself. She was unaware of her surroundings, terrified by the phantoms she beheld. I watched as the therapist spoke gently to her; as she answered, her tortured descriptions of what she was seeing tumbled out of her mouth in anguished clumps. They spoke for a long time, he listening to her talk about what her mind was showing her. She grew quieter and began to cry a little. Then the therapist asked gently, 'Can you tell me where you are and who I am?' The girl did not answer for a time. Then she said, haltingly, 'I don't know where I am, but you are Dr. Smith.' In that moment I felt her cross over from her world of illusion into our world. It was as if Christ had reached over and helped her step across. She didn't know where she was, but she allowed herself to know the one who could help her return. In that moment, I felt as if I had witnessed one of Jesus's healing miracles. It was a bland, institutional-looking dormitory room in which we were sitting. But surely the Lord was in that place."

This beautiful, sad story of mental illness and healing has much to show us. Our inner demons of worry and fear and anxiety may torment us as much as this young woman's delusions terrified her. Yet, even when we are unable to feel God's presence, He is there with us, listening to us. And when we are finally able to be led to quiet peace, we will know the Lord and hear his voice.

This Sunday could also be called Transfiguration Sunday, since today's Gospel lesson from Mark is about that important event in the life of Christ. St. Peter was one of three disciples there with Jesus on the mountain when "he was transfigured before them, and his clothes became dazzling white, such as no one on earth could bleach them. And there appeared to them Elijah with Moses, who were talking with Jesus." Peter sounds out of his head when he suggests that they should build three dwellings for the holy ones and stay there. He has not yet grasped the fleeting nature of human contact with the divine. But he certainly remembers well hearing the voice of the Lord speak from the heavens, as he attests in his letter, our epistle for today. What did the Lord say? "This is my Son, the Beloved; listen to him!"

In his letter, Peter, who has by now grown in wisdom and stature as Christ's designated leader of the early church, reminds all of us: "You will do well to be attentive to this as to a lamp shining in a dark place, until the day dawns and the morning star rises in your hearts." Listen. Be silent. Make your hearts quiet that they may receive the Lord's consolation. In a world full of crisis and conflict, achieving that kind of stillness may be a challenge. I believe it will be in such heartfelt silence that we will hear the voice of the Lord requiring us to reach out in loving kindness to those around us more desperate even than we. Our ability to respond in love will make us the shining ones to those who need us, and in that way we, too, will be transfigured into the likeness of the Lord.

Susan Hull

Sermon for January 25, 2009

2009-08-11T17:20:00.000-07:00

Homily for January 25, 2009 Buck Mountain and Graves Chapel

It isn’t easy being a prophet. In today’s Old Testament lesson, we see the prophet Jonah in one of his better moments, walking across the city of Ninevah to warn the people of the destruction God has planned for them. But this is Chapter 3 of Jonah, and at the end of Chapter 2 Jonah was vomited from the belly of the whale. You may not remember the reason Jonah ended up being swallowed by a whale in the first place. When God originally called Jonah to take his message to the people of Ninevah, Jonah was afraid, no doubt believing the people would not be very pleased with any person delivering such a warning. So, in order to get away from God and his obligations, Jonah boarded a ship and headed in the opposite direction. Displeased with Jonah, God sent a big storm, and when Jonah confessed to the sailors that he was the reason for the storm that tossed their ship, the sailors threw him overboard. Kindly, God, who clearly had plans for Jonah, sent a whale to rescue him.

If you are, like me, a big fan of the Aubrey-Maturin seafaring novels by Patrick O’Brian, you know that in the 18th century, when tall ships traversed the seas of the world, sailors were very superstitious about carrying a clergyman as a passenger. If a bad storm arose or other problems ensued when a man of the cloth was aboard, the sailors might choose to throw the Jonah, as they called him, into the sea. For all I know, sailors may still have an aversion to people like Jonah. So, whether you follow God’s call or try to avoid it, being a prophet (or a preacher) can be dangerous business.

What is the job description for a prophet? A prophet is someone who can see the big picture. A prophet can look into the future and see the end point of the path that people are currently pursuing. A prophet has the insight and wisdom to know the likely results and consequences of the chosen path. Since people are usually perfectly happy to continue in the direction they are headed, prophets are not popular. They can be scorned or reviled, thrown into jail like Paul, or killed like Jesus. It isn’t too surprising Jonah tried to avoid his duty as a prophet.

Events of the past week unavoidably focused our nation’s attention on the great American prophet and martyr of the 20th century, Martin Luther King, Jr. I am grateful to have been a child in the 1960s, to have grown up in Madison County, in a Southern state, and to have been a witness to the turmoil of the times. Seeing the world then, through a child’s eyes, was a test, to say the least, so you may ask why I am grateful to have grown up during such turbulent times. I believe we all learn our most enduring lessons from the challenges of life. My parents were churchgoing Christians and good people, and they took me to Sunday School and Vacation Bible School. What I learned there was that Christ calls us to love one another and to love our neighbors as ourselves. I will never forget some of the songs we learned, and one I remember well--I can even remember being in a Sunday School room and singing it--was “Jesus Loves the Little Children.” Maybe you remember that one, too. It goes like this: “Jesus loves the little children, all the children of the world. Red and yellow, black and white, they are precious in his sight. Jesus loves the little children of the world.” I believed those words with my whole heart, because the Jesus I had come to know extended a welcome to everyone, even tax-collecting sinners like Zaccheus. (There was a song about him, too.) Jesus did not discriminate against anyone.

But the world I grew up in didn’t seem to match Jesus’s dream. I attended an all-white elementary school. The only African-American in the building was an elderly custodian, and we children were instructed to call him Uncle Jim. I am ashamed to say I still do not know the man’s full name. What I was taught at Sunday School was not being taught or lived at Waverly Yowell Elementary.

Historians now say the nightly news on television in the 1960s was an instrument of social change, and I understand what they mean. Seeing it before my very eyes, I could not understand how some white Southerners, who no doubt called themselves Christians, could use fire hoses or turn vicious dogs on peaceful protestors simply asking for their basic human rights. Dr. King showed me what it meant to use no force but the force of righteousness and to turn the other cheek to injustice. I was in 8th grade when Madison County Schools finally integrated, and I was in 9th grade when Martin Luther King, Jr., was assassinated. By the time he died, King had become my hero. He spoke the truth in Christian love, and he did what he did with more courage than I had ever witnessed, in the face of constant threats against his life.

On Tuesday, when Barack Obama was inaugurated, many Americans spoke of how Martin Luther King’s dream had finally come true. If they meant that we, as a nation, have reached a point of color-blindness, when we truly judge others “by the content of their character and not the color of their skin,” I do not believe we are there yet. I hope and pray a door has been opened into that new world where the teachings of Jesus Christ may finally be fulfilled in the dream of Martin King, but I think we still have some distance to go. We may believe “Jesus loved the little children, all the children of the world,” but until our actions match those beliefs, we are not truly answering Christ’s call to love one another. Those actions must include tolerant acceptance of everyone we encounter as we seek and serve Christ in all persons.

Former Presiding Bishop of the Episcopal Church Edmond Browning wrote: "Jesus came into the world to save the world, the whole of the world. There was nothing outside God's intention in the act, and there is nothing outside it now. Life is hard. Life will always be hard. But it is holy."
In his inaugural address our new President warned us of the hard times ahead and asked us to “pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off,” and help him to remake America. We are truly living in dangerous and difficult times, and even if we did not vote for Obama, we may agree with the urgency of his call to action. We may feel the need to heed his call and do something for our neighbor and our country. But what do we do?

A call is a very risky thing. In today’s lesson from the gospel of Mark, we see Jesus calling his first four disciples, who immediately drop what they are doing and join him. Reading that, we might say, “Well, I probably would answer a call if Jesus came to me and asked me directly. I could see myself doing what the disciples did.” If we are really being honest with ourselves, we might also say, “Those disciples must have been nuts. They didn’t even know who Jesus was at that point.”

We certainly know much more about Jesus today than Peter, Andrew, James and John could have known back then. Many Christians do feel called to serve the Lord in a variety of ways, and we can see the results of their response as they serve food to the homeless or volunteer for organizations like Habitat for Humanity. Good works are important in a world so full of hurt and need, and any way in which we reach out to our neighbor fulfills the golden rule. But I think a call from Jesus Christ asks more of us. When Jesus called his disciples, he turned their world upside down. What he asked for was a complete change of course. What he wants from us is a mindfulness of all we do so that all we do is an expression of love. When he spoke of his disciples, Jesus said, “You will know them by their love.” Can the same be said of us?

I know it’s hard. Believe me, I have tried to practice what I preach, and I find some people extremely hard to love. The driving-too-fast guy who cuts back into my lane and nearly runs me off the road—definitely not someone I feel much love towards. In truth, I sometimes find it hard to love close members of my own family—they can be very annoying at times. There are days when I find it hard to love myself. But the task is to see ourselves and everyone else as children of God. Loving each other as brothers and sisters in Christ, fallible as we all are, is the foundation of Christian community. May it also be the foundation of our nation as we move forward through the challenges we face.

Susan Hull

Advent Homily, December 21, 2008

2009-08-11T17:18:00.000-07:00

Homily for Advent, Nine Lessons and Carols 12/21/08

Advent means coming, and during this season, as we hang garlands of greenery and light candles, we make preparations for the arrival of love. The infant Jesus was born into a very dark world, darker even than ours seems to us today. The Palestine of 2000 years ago was a place oppressed by a ruthless Empire and marked by savage inequalities. In that place and time, women and children had no rights at all. Yet, the Almighty God chose a young woman and her child as the instruments of his entry into the world. And so we say, “Love came down at Christmas.”

How do we recognize love when we encounter it? Love is lovable. Who can resist showing love to a little baby? Love is humble, born to a poor family. It doesn’t call attention to itself, and yet humble love has a mighty way of attracting others --like shepherds and wise kings. Love is vulnerable, seemingly powerless, but it is strong enough to crack the coldest hearts and to move armies and nations in support of righteous causes. Love is innocent, free of sin and guilt and yet freely forgiving the sins of others. Born into darkness, Love is light, a light that drives away fear and spreads its blessing equally to all. Like the tiniest of candles in a vast dark room, even the smallest act of kindness is a redeeming expression of love to someone sorely in need of love. Like light, Love is endless and cannot be conquered by darkness. The invincibility of love is proven every time we share love’s light with others.

The Lord and his Light be with you this day and always....

Susan Hull

Sermon for October 26, 2008

2009-08-11T17:15:00.000-07:00

A sermon given at Buck Mountain Episcopal Church (10:30) and Graves Chapel (5:00)

Lessons:
Deuteronomy 34: 1-12
Psalm 90: 1-6, 13-17
1 Thessalonians 2: 1-8
Matthew 22: 34-46

Our lessons today provide us with a set of bookends. In Deuteronomy, we have the passing of Moses, the great giver of laws. In the gospel reading from Matthew, Jesus speaks the words that sum up all the laws in a way that anyone should be able to understand. “’You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.’ This is the greatest and first commandment. And a second is like it: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.” If we love God with all of our being and we truly love our neighbors as ourselves, we will be incapable of violating any commandments, or in any other way causing harm. Jesus tells us that love is the only law we really need to know. For this reason Jesus, whose life was sacrificed for love of humankind, has been called “the fulfillment of the law.”

If you’ve heard me preach before, you may have noticed that one of my favorite biblical themes is “God is Love,” and we are reminded of that one again today. Unfortunately, we may feel that we have good reasons to doubt whether God is really love. All of us have had experiences that have broken our hearts or made us want to shake a fist at God and ask, “Why?” At this very moment, someone somewhere is suffering. Someone is grieving. Someone is afraid. Where is God in all of this?

One answer that people have for the inexplicable tragedies that occur seems to be “It was God’s will.” Believing as I do that God is only love, I cringe when I hear that said. I believe that God does NOT will the bad things that happen. God does NOT cause the tragedies. In granting humans free will, to choose the good over the bad, to choose love over hate, God allowed us to control our own fates. Bad things happen because of human willfulness, human error, and human complexity coming into conflict with natural forces. With all of our freedom, we have made a pretty good mess of things.

Even though we often disregard Him, however, God never abandons us. We think of God the Father and God the Son, but, as we also hear, they are “one being.” God knows our sorrows because God chose to enter them. To understand our lives, God became fully human, and for our sakes, he died an excruciating, lonely death. God knows what it means to suffer. When our hearts break, God’s compassionate heart breaks, too. God does not cause our suffering, but he is there to suffer with us and offer divine consolation.

I have felt that blessed compassion in my own life. My sweet mother, a devoted Christian, died too young of a terrible and rare neurological disease. Yes, it was very unfair. But from all I can read about Steele Richardson syndrome, its most likely cause is something environmental. How can I blame God for the way humans have polluted his creation? And I certainly can’t blame God for my father’s suicide. But I want you to know that in the dark days after the deaths of both of my parents, God made his presence known to me in very powerful ways. That is where God is in the deep sorrows of life--there to console us, to lift us, to draw us into his loving arms. He came to me in the love of friends and family, in the outpouring of sympathy and help. He came to me in a letter written by one of my mother’s best friends, who assured me that I had done everything I could for Mama, even though I believed I had not.

What then does God will for us? As a former presiding bishop of the Episcopal Church, the Right Reverend Frank Griswold once said, “We have so reduced and so limited notions of God’s will to orders and commands that we have lost sight of the truth that God’s will is fundamentally a matter of divine affection and delight. God’s fundamental will for us is our deepest well-being.” His predecessor, the Right Reverand Edmond Browning said something along similar lines when he wrote, “What is the purpose of the autumn leaves? We know why they need to fall: it is so the tree can rest during the winter, and so the soil can be renewed by their decomposing. But why, before they die, do they burst into this glorious song? It is hard for me to imagine any other reason besides the disposition of God toward the good and the beautiful. Many things need not be lovely, but they are.”

There are so many stories in scripture that illustrate the abundant love of God, and sometimes it is a nurturing, mothering love. In the Book of Proverbs, the Wisdom of God is personified as a woman named Sophia. Of Wisdom it is said, “She is more precious than jewels, and nothing you desire can compare with her...Her ways are ways of pleasantness, and all her paths are peace. She is a tree of life to those who lay hold of her; those who hold her fast are called happy.” [Proverbs 3:15-18] I like thinking about Sophia as the feminine side of God’s nature, and not just because I’m a woman. I wish I’d heard more about her when I was a child who feared the stern, white-bearded old man some people called God.

Jesus also reminds us of the compassionate love of God when he 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!” [Matthew 23:37] He speaks directly to the way humans reject the love so freely offered by God when he says the people “were not willing” to be gathered under his wings. Jesus also lets us hear how much the act of giving love to others brings him joy.

In December, if all things go well, my first grandbaby will be born. As I think about this unborn child, I am already beginning to understand something my friends, who are already grandmothers, have shared with me. I hear that being a grandmother is more precious even than motherhood, and that spoiling grandchildren is a great blessing. Those of you who are already grandparents probably know what I’m talking about. Giving love to our children and grandchildren, feeling that we would do anything for these precious ones, is, I believe, the kind of love God feels for us.

I’d like to tell you my story about my great-aunt, Mary Estes Hawkins. I say my story, because Aunt Mary was to me someone uniquely special. I never really got to know well any of my own grandparents; both of my grandfathers were already dead when I was born, and my grandmother Estes was sick and in a nursing home from the time I was very young. But for some reason I can attribute only to her love and compassion, Aunt Mary became my grandmother. Her daughter Dolly and my mother, though cousins, were as close as sisters, and since Dolly and her children lived with Uncle Buck and Aunt Mary, we spent a lot of time at their house. Age-wise, I fit somewhere in the middle of Aunt Mary’s grandchildren, and we played together. I spent many nights at her house. I realized that Aunt Mary saw me as one of her own by the way she treated me with the same love and generosity. This became very clear to me one time after Aunt Mary and Uncle Buck returned from a trip, and she brought me the very same souvenir gift that she brought her granddaughters. I still have and treasure the little glass lamp. And I still treasure my memories of Aunt Mary.

I was reminded of her and her kind of love by these words in today’s psalm: “May the graciousness of the Lord our God be upon us; prosper the work of our hands; prosper our handiwork.” My mother crocheted and embroidered, my aunt Clara cross-stitched and knitted--seeing women at such work is infinitely comforting to me. Aunt Mary did handiwork as well, and what I remember seeing her do was tatting--a way to make lace with fine needles. If you will indulge me, I’d like to share a poem I wrote in honor of my aunt Mary:

Aunt Mary

With a needle and white thread
she tatted lace around a kerchief
as she rested in the evening, day’s work
done in kitchen and garden.
She was a descendant of the first one
who sewed polished bone to deerskin,
all those who demonstrate
by the work of their hands
and the refinement of their nature
a belief that life is more
than just a struggle to survive.
What is the current state of civility?
The work of fostering concord
requires too much time.
Few hands still fashion wood
into smooth bowls or graceful chairs
in a world far removed
from simple art, simple pleasure,
simple need.

Lamplight kindled her silver hair,
head bent as she shuttled the needle,
her movements rhythmic as a loom.
I’d love to hear her soft voice again,
unfold a damask napkin
and sit down to dinner at her table.
I want to hear the creaking of the earth
as it turns from darkness towards dawn.

We are all called to be instruments of the love of God in the lives of others. We are called to seek and serve Christ in all persons. As St. Teresa of Avila said, “God has no hands, nor has he feet nor voice except ours; and through these he works.” If God is love, then it is our job to make that love known in the world. And we are blessed in the giving. To quote Bishop Browning again, “As we have been created to love and savor the world God has given us, so we have also been created to care for each other, to serve whom we can while we can. While God’s goodness does not depend upon ours, and God’s plan unfolds whether we go along with it or not, we are intended to mirror the love which created us in the love we bear one another.”

So, remember, “Life is short, and we do not have much time to gladden the hearts of those who travel with us, so be swift to love and make haste to be kind.” (Henri-Frederic Amiel)

Susan Hull

Sermon for September 28, 2008

2009-08-11T17:13:00.000-07:00

Graves Chapel Evening Prayer

Lessons: Exodus 17:1-7
Psalm 78
Philippians 2: 1-13
Matthew 21: 23-32

May the meditation of my heart and the words of my mouth be acceptable in your sight, O Lord, my strength and my redeemer.

“Sinners repent.” That phrase sounds as if it should always be spoken in the voice of doom. Now that I’ve made us squirm a little, maybe it’s time to think about what it means to be a sinner. I don’t want to pretend to explain why we sin or how sin separates us from each other and from God. If I take a close look at my own sins, I can see the answers to those questions pretty easily, and I bet you can, too. As someone who loves language and the power of words, today I am most interested in what the word sin means.

There is much debate about the origin of the word, but one argument has it that the English word sin is derived from an old archery term, which means to miss the mark. Think of an archer raising an arrow to his bow and taking aim. If “missing the mark” is the definition of sin, then a goal to hit the mark came first. Life sometimes feels like target practice, and if missing the mark is what happens to most of us on a routine basis, then I guess what we do is pick up the arrow and try again. Sometimes we try and try until we get it right. Most of the sins we have to repeat until we hit the mark are everyday, ordinary sins: Speaking in anger, forgetting to follow through on a commitment, failing to be completely honest. I think of these sins as my self-defeating behaviors, because I often hurt myself more with these sins than I hurt others.

There are some times, however, when missing the mark can be life-threatening, as when an archer fails to shoot an arrow through the heart of the lion leaping toward him. Our responsibilities to ourselves and to others can be very weighty, and a failure to meet such obligations may result in serious consequences. Is the scary stuff going on in the American economy right now a collective result of this kind of sin? Could be. What they are calling “the credit crunch” has both greedy lenders and shopping-addicted consumers at its roots.

Beyond doubt, there is evil in the world. Evil exists. The sins that we might label evil are very dark and destructive. Our little ordinary sins pale in comparison to real evil. We like to think that, and for the most part, it’s true. But I don’t think that lets us off the hook. We have to be careful that our small sins don’t contribute to some larger destruction--an example would be how a choice we make, like not recycling an aluminum can, may tip the balance of nature in the wrong direction.

All of my musings about sin and what it means were launched by the first words in today’s lesson from Exodus. The phrase “the wilderness of Sin” is just beautiful, I think. Sin is capitalized to suggest a location on a map, but it is purely metaphoric. In this lesson, we are in the midst of the story of Moses leading the people through the wilderness. Being human beings, as usual they are whining and complaining. Once again, God has to remind them of his power, this time by bringing water from a rock. The wilderness is a testing ground. The question for us is, how can the life we are living today be like a “wilderness of sin”?

According to the Oxford English Dictionary, a wilderness is “a tract of solitude and savageness.” When we are in a wilderness, we feel alone, confused, and threatened. I don’t know about you, but when I’ve done something I know is wrong, I feel very much alone. By sinning, I have created a wilderness in my own soul, and I have no one I can honestly blame but myself.

If I think of my sin as “missing the mark,” I can try again, take better aim. I can also learn a valuable lesson from my first failed attempt. In admitting to myself what I’ve done wrong and how it was wrong, I can understand how NOT to do it again. In fact, I think this understanding is the blessing the Lord allows our sins to bring us. I have learned many valuable life lessons from things I’ve done that I would not care to repeat. The process of learning from our sins and failures is deeply humbling. Since Christ embodied humility in all of his acts, such humility may very well be the virtue he would most like us to have. It is certainly the counterbalance to sin. As poet T.S. Eliot said, “The only wisdom we can hope to acquire is the wisdom of humility; humility is endless.”

Paul says something along these lines in his epistle to the Philippians. In speaking of Christ, Paul says, “And being found in human form, he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death--even death on a cross.” For Paul the obedient, self-sacrificing humility of Christ was the sign of his great love. He exhorts the Philippians to “be of the same mind, having the same love, being in full accord and of one mind. Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility regard others as better than yourselves.” This is a petition that has the golden rule at its very foundation--the rule of love, of loving our neighbors as ourselves. Or, as in the Lord’s case, of loving our neighbors more than we love ourselves.

In today’s gospel lesson, we are given one of the many examples of the way Jesus himself looked at sin. He was very consistent in his love for sinners; he liked to be with them. In fact, he much preferred their company to that of the holier-than-thou Pharisees, who often chided him for hanging around with riffraff. Actions that look like obvious sins to the Pharisees are something very different to the Lord. He sees such situations as opportunities for his love and mercy to bring someone to repentance and newness of life. He is very clear that those of us who might think we are sin-free are not endowed with the right to judge others. Remember the story of the woman caught in the act of adultery and brought to Jesus for his judgment? Not only does Jesus not pass judgment on the woman, but he sends the self-righteous ones away, very uncomfortably I might add, by making a simple suggestion: “Let anyone among you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone at her.” [John 8:7] At least the Pharisees demonstrated some humility when they had the good sense to slink away.

On the issue of humility being a most-favored virtue, Jesus is very clear. In the gospel of Luke he constructs a whole parable about the contrast between self-righteousness and humility. "Two men went up to the temple to pray, one a Pharisee and the other a tax collector. The Pharisee stood up and prayed about himself: 'God, I thank you that I am not like other men—robbers, evildoers, adulterers—or even like this tax collector. I fast twice a week and give a tenth of all I get.' "But the tax collector stood at a distance. He would not even look up to heaven, but beat his breast and said, 'God, have mercy on me, a sinner.' "I tell you that this man, rather than the other, went home justified before God. For everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, and he who humbles himself will be exalted." [Luke 18:10-14] There are dire consequences for self-righteousness, which clearly misses the mark Jesus sets for us, the mark of tolerance and humility.

Today’s reading from Matthew suggests how self-righteousness is not only a sin, but is also a barrier to salvation. At the beginning of this passage, the chief priests and elders are challenging the authority of Jesus, who in their eyes is an unqualified man who has set himself up as a teacher. He threatens their own sense of themselves as men of status. When he asks them a question, they are thrown into confusion. These proud men need to have the right answer to any question, and they certainly wouldn’t want the upstart Jesus to embarrass them. So, instead of coming up with a potentially incorrect answer, they say, “We do not know.” It would seem they have entered “the wilderness of sin.” Why? The Pharisees have constructed a set of laws, and their laws are contained within well-defined limits. They will not tolerate any expansion of these limits. For them, a law is a law. Something is either right or it is wrong, and they have the ultimate word on what is right. The Pharisees are greatly comforted by this sense of their superior grasp on morality. What does Jesus have to say to them about their unwillingness to bend? “Truly I tell you, the tax-collectors and the prostitutes are going into the kingdom of God ahead of you. For John came to you in the way of righteousness, and you did not believe him, but the tax collectors and the prostitutes believed him; and even after you saw it, you did not change your minds and believe him.”

This is truly sad, because the Pharisees are good people by any measure. They do the right things and follow the rules. But Jesus came to change the rules, and the unwillingness of the Pharisees to “change their minds” is blocking them from the love and mercy of Christ. He does not want them (or us) to be legalistic; he wants them (and us) to be tolerant. He does not want judgment from them; he wants humility. Clearly it is better in the eyes of Jesus to be an ordinary garden-variety sinner who knows herself or himself to be one than to be a Pharisee.

The Pharisees considered themselves to be scriptural scholars, and as such, surely they had heard the words of the prophet Micah. Micah offered all of us a simple guide for how to behave well when he said, “And what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your Lord.”

When I hear a group of people expressing intolerance or prejudice toward another group, I think to myself, “Bunch of Pharisees.” Then I have to pull myself up short, because in that very thought I have become a Pharisee myself. As the psalm for today says, “He leads the humble in what is right, and teaches the humble his way.” There is only one way in the eyes of Jesus: “Love your neighbor as yourself.”

So, remember, “Life is short, and we do not have much time to gladden the hearts of those who travel with us, so be swift to love and make haste to be kind.” (Henri-Frederic Amiel)

Susan Hull

Sermon for August 31, 2008

2009-08-11T17:10:00.000-07:00

Lessons:
Exodus 3:1-15
Psalm 105
Romans 12:9-21
Matthew 16:21-28

Perfectionism. Do any of you suffer from that disorder as I sometimes do? Why do we even tell ourselves that we should be perfect? Well, scripture seems to send confusing messages on the topic of perfection. In Matthew 5:48, during what we have come to call his Sermon on the Mount, Jesus says: “Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect.” And we live in a world where we often feel others expect us to do a perfect job at everything we undertake. Sometimes those we are closest to expect us to fulfill all of their needs and are quick to tell us when we let them down. We can also turn the tables and tell our loved ones when they have failed to meet our expectations. I know I have certainly been guilty of that, and my then-teenage son gave me an important insight into my own behavior when he told me, “Mom, expectations are planned resentments.”

Being perfect is not just a tall order--it is an impossible goal for humans to achieve. As my father used to like to say, “There was only one perfect man, and they crucified him.” The writers of the epistles struggled to determine what the Lord meant by perfection. Remember, in an earlier passage in Romans, Paul says,”For I know that nothing good dwells within me, that is, in my flesh. I can will what is right, but I cannot do it. For I do not do the good I want, but the evil I do not want is what I do.” We all share that same frustration--it’s only human.
In today’s epistle, Paul has worked his way around to a practical approach to being good, one that we may well take to heart. It seems to be based on the rule of love. He says, “Let love be genuine...Love one another with mutual affection...Extend hospitality to strangers...Bless those who persecute you; bless and do not curse them. Live in harmony with one another...If it is possible, so far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all.”

Our attitude toward the tasks we undertake, then, is far more important than the the skill with which we complete them. Even the most mundane chores can be expressions of faith if we do them with a prayerful and loving heart. As 19th century poet and priest Gerard Manley Hopkins put it, “To lift up the hands in prayer gives God glory, but a man with a dung fork in his hand, a woman with a slop pail, give him glory, too. He is so great that all things give him glory if you mean they should.” Perfection and elegance may not be what the Lord expects of us, but I believe love is. The power of love is illustrated in this way: God’s love for us is capable of using and redeeming even our worst mistakes.

The Bible is full of stories of heroes chosen by God who are far from perfect, and today’s lessons present two of them: Moses and Peter. In the long story from Exodus, we see Moses by that famous burning bush. Remember, he fled Egypt as a murderer, however justified that act may have seemed, and he does not want to go back. He had killed an Egyptian overseer for his harsh treatment of some Hebrew slaves. You would think that hearing the Lord speak to him from a burning bush would have made him fall prostrate and plead for mercy, but not Moses. He comes up with every excuse he can think of why he shouldn’t have to be the one to go back to Egypt and lead his people out of slavery. The first is : “Who am I that I should go to Pharaoh and bring the Israelites out of Egypt?” When God has an answer for that, Moses then says, “Who shall I tell them sent me?” God then displays the magnificence of his name. Our lesson today ends before the conversation does, and Moses continues his argument with God. Next Moses says, “But suppose they do not believe me or listen to me?” That’s when God shows Moses that he can turn his staff into a snake. Still, Moses has another argument. “Lord, I have never been eloquent, but I am slow of speech and slow of tongue.” At that point, God, who is getting a bit angry, promises to send Moses’ brother Aaron, a better speaker, with Moses to be his helper. Finally Moses relents and agrees to the task, and the rest is, well, history. All along God sees something in Moses he can’t see himself, and God is willing to put up with his imperfections and bad attitude. I wonder how many times God has called me to do something, and I have answered with a “But I can’t do that, Lord.”

Sometimes when I’m feeling guilty and far from perfect, I find it comforting to think of some of the others who were clearly loved by God and chosen for particular roles in spite of their imperfections. I think of some of these guys, including Moses, as the bad boys of the Bible. Think about how Jacob tricked his brother Esau out of his birthright and then deceived his father Isaac into giving him, Jacob, the blessing intended for his brother. Pretty bad stuff--so bad, Jacob had to flee from home. And yet God saw something magnificent in Jacob and renamed him Israel to signify his importance.

Then there’s David--the greatest king of Israel. Remember how he lusted after Bathsheba and had her soldier husband Uriah the Hittite put on the front line of battle so he would be killed? Then David could marry Bathsheba, who was already pregnant with his child. I think what happens next to him gives us the key to how much we are loved and forgiven by God. When the prophet Nathan confronts David with his great sin, he immediately confesses and repents, and the Lord spares him and continues to bless him. Isn’t this good news? Being human, we are all imperfect. We often say and do the very things we know we shouldn’t. But the stories of Moses and Jacob and David, and countless other sinners, show us that a faithful repentance and turning back to God assure us of his forgiveness. I think it is also important to add that, for most of us, this is a process that seems to have to happen over and over again. We have a hard time getting it right. God’s love, it would seem, is infinite.

In his Parable of the Prodigal Son, Jesus illustrates the eternally forgiving nature of God the Father. After falling into complete dissipation, the wayward son turns toward home, where his father welcomes him with wide-open arms. In this full embrace, the father accepts the son just as he is and enfolds him once more into the family. The son has not fully accepted himself or acknowledged his misdeeds. All he has done is turn back towards home, and Jesus is telling us that the turning back towards God, even in the midst of confusion, is all that is required of us to receive God’s mercy.

Simon Peter in last Sunday’s gospel lesson was blessed by Jesus and called the rock on which the church would be built. When Jesus asked him, “But who do you say I am,” Peter replied, “You are the Messiah, the Son of the Living God.” Peter was the first of the apostles to name Jesus as Messiah, and that is one of the few times he got something right. Peter is highly impulsive--in fact, in today’s world he might be labeled ADHD. He’s a blurter and a blunderer, and there are many times when the Lord has to rebuke him. Today’s gospel gives an account of one of those times Peter is called to task by the Lord. In fact, Jesus is very harsh with him and calls him the Tempter: “Get behind me, Satan! You are a stumbling block to me.”

Yet Jesus’s faith in Peter remains strong in spite of the many times Peter falls short. Remember when the disciples saw Jesus walking towards them across the water, and exuberant Peter asked to join him? At first Peter is able to take a few steps on the waves, but when he becomes frightened, he sinks and has to be saved by the Lord. As one of the three witnesses to the Transfiguration, Peter’s best response to seeing the Lord illuminated and speaking with Elijah and Moses is to blurt out: “If you wish I will make three dwellings here, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.” As usual, Peter misses the point.

Of course the true test (and failure) of Peter comes at the end of the story. At the Last Supper, when Jesus chooses to demonstrate the Christian attitude toward service by washing the feet of all of the disciples, Peter at first refuses to let the Lord wash his. Then, when Jesus convinces Peter to allow him to wash his feet, Peter overdoes it by saying, “Lord, not my feet only but also my head and my hands.” At the end of the supper, when the Lord predicts that Peter will deny him three times before the cock crows, Peter vehemently objects.

Luke’s version of the events provides us with the most details about Peter’s actions that night. After Jesus is arrested, Peter has just enough courage to follow his master, if from a distance. Considering that Jesus is on trial for his life, I doubt if many of us would have exhibited more courage than Peter. As predicted, when Peter is confronted by three separate people who accuse him of being a follower of Jesus, he denies it. Then Peter hears the cock crow, and in remembering the Lord’s prediction, Peter recognizes what he has done and is filled with shame. In that moment, the Lord turns and looks at him. Can you imagine how excruciatingly painful that look must have been to Peter? Can you feel the guilt and shame he must have felt? Can you believe and take to heart the depth of the Lord’s mercy?

When the Resurrected Lord encounters Peter again, he forgives him and reminds Peter of his mission, telling him, “Feed my lambs.” Peter became a fearless leader among the disciples, and he ultimately brought the message to Rome, where it took hold and spread throughout the world. For this reason, Peter is considered the founder of the church and the first pope by Catholics.

Don’t you wonder how Peter survived the torment of his guilt from the time of his betrayal until he saw the risen Lord? Don’t you wonder how he even had the courage to face the Lord again? Maybe he was sustained by the words the Lord spoke to him at the Last Supper, when he predicted Peter’s betrayal: “Simon, Simon, listen! Satan has demanded to sift all of you like wheat, but I have prayed for you that your own faith may not fail; and you, when once you have turned back, strengthen your brothers.” [Luke 22:31-32] Given a second chance, Peter did not fail the Lord.

What Jesus said to Peter we can take to heart as well. Satan and our own willfulness will always work to lead us astray. As humans, we can only be imperfect. We will always make mistakes, fail to do what we know we should do, and suffer the consequences of our choices. The story of Peter reminds us that Christ loves us, forgives us, and still makes use of us in spite of our failures. The Lord, our intercessor, is constantly praying for us. He is praying that we will turn back, and in that turning back, we receive the mercy of God.

I’d like to share some words with you from one of my favorite spiritual books, Seeking Peace by Johann Christoph Arnold. In this passage, the author is quoting his grandfather, Eberhard Arnold, who was one of the founders of the Bruderhof Christian community. And I quote: “Have the patience and the courage to begin anew each day, and trust in God’s help; his mercy is new every morning.” [end quote]

Do we believe that we can begin again at any moment, that God’s mercy is truly new every morning? I know the human tendency to be fatalistic--to think, well, what the heck...I’m in this far, and there’s no point in turning back. I might just as well keep going now--down whatever wrongheaded path I’ve chosen.But that isn’t the message God had for Moses or Jesus had for Peter. Their message is always “Turn back.” Satan will not have the last word. That is because God is love, and when we turn back toward the warmth of that love, God is capable of taking care of the rest.

Susan Hull

Sermon for July 27, 2008

2009-08-11T17:06:00.000-07:00

In the Epistle to the Hebrews, faith is famously defined as “the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.” The words substance and evidence, both of which sound like things one could measure or present in a court of law are set in contrast with faith and hope, two intangibles. Some days the substance and evidence are enough to keep us going; there are lots of things in our daily lives that we have faith in. We have faith that our cars will start when we need to drive them. We have faith that our English muffins will turn brown when we insert them in a toaster and pull the lever. We have faith that bills will arrive in the mail. If we are lucky, we have faith that someone who cares about us will answer the phone when we need help. That kind of faith is based on our past experience or on the evidence of things we can see with our own eyes.

Yet, even though the majesty and mystery and beauty of the universe are before our eyes every day, our faith in God can be very unsteady. Given the choice between something immensely powerful, but invisible, and a toaster, we’d probably choose the toaster. We would really like to have a more manageable God, something predictable with buttons we can push. Saying “Thy will be done” and really meaning it--most days we don’t want to go there. Faith is just too scary.

It’s a funny thing, isn’t it? The days when faith comes easily, the days when we are willing to put our trust in God, are probably the days when we can trust our own feelings. When we have a more balanced and less self-centered view of things, we can see our relationship with God in its true perspective . Unfortunately, our moods and thoughts are changeable, and what we believe about the world around us and how we experience it are based on our thoughts and our feelings. As Shakespeare said, “There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.” Have you ever been somewhere that you thought was wonderful, where you had the best time of your life--and then had your companion, who was with you the whole time, say, “That was truly awful.” There is no way to explain such a thing other than to understand that we all bring our own personal biases to the lives we live. I am reminded of something else I read somewhere: “You can safely assume that you have created God in your own image if he hates all of the same people you do.” How much is our struggle with faith really a struggle with the way we see God? How often is the way we see God simply a result of our attitude on that particular day? How do we get beyond our attitudes and fears to a place where faith is real?

To me, today’s lessons seem to be about the place where faith comes to rest in the human heart, the place that we experience as home. Home. What images does that word conjure for you? Home is as much a feeling as it is a geographical location, don’t you think? We all know the feeling at the end of a hard day, when we can take off our shoes and settle into a peaceful rest. Our hearts tell us we are completely safe, that no matter what we have endured that day, all is well. That is truly faith, a faith in the presence of God, and our evidence is the rightness we feel, the security, the comfort. When we are in that internal space, we are more likely to hear the still, small voice of God. Paul assures us in today’s lesson from Romans that it isn’t up to us to know how to ask for God’s comfort and his presence. “The Spirit helps us in our weakness” even when we do not know how to ask for help, “how to pray as we ought.” Through the Spirit, God “searches the heart.” Home, then, is the place where my faith invites the Lord to take up residence in my heart.

Psalm 105 speaks of Abraham and his descendants, specifically of his grandson Jacob, and of God’s covenant with Abraham: “To you I will give the land of Canaan.” Remember, Abraham was chosen by God because of his exemplary faith. He passed a test of his faith that I’m pretty sure I would have failed when he prepared to sacrifice his son Isaac upon God’s orders. Just at the last moment, God sends an angel to stay Abraham’s hand. In the lesson from Genesis we have one key part of that very convoluted story of Abraham’s family--the story of how Jacob ends up with four wives (sisters Leah and Rachel and their handmaids) and thus becomes the father of twelve sons. Remember, Jacob is later renamed Israel after he wrestles all night with an angel and doesn’t give in; hence, his twelve sons are the founders of the twelve tribes of Israel. After the years of exile in Egypt and the wilderness, Moses and Joshua lead the descendants of Israel into that Promised Land of Canaan. Their home.

In other parts of the Bible, we are told that Canaan is a beautiful land, a land flowing with milk and honey. Growing up where I did, in a truly beautiful part of Madison County, I believed in Canaan, and I believed I lived there. Children have such a limited view of the world, and they particularize the things they hear about to their own experience. I also remember believing that the small hedge-enclosed park on Main Street in Madison, where the big Christmas tree is lit each year, was the place called Madison Square Garden that I had heard about on TV. My experience of the family I loved and the beautiful landscape that surrounded us convinced me that I lived in the Promised Land. That kind of home is an easy place to love and lay your faith in.

In his famous poem, “The Death of the Hired Man,” Robert Frost says, “Home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in.” This long narrative poem is really a conversation between a farmer named Warren and his wife Mary. An old man named Silas, who had worked for them off and on over the years, somewhat unreliably, has reappeared unexpectedly and Mary has opened her door to him. Warren is a bit annoyed it seems, but his statement about home being the place where you have to be taken in at least demonstrates that he understands the source of Mary’s kindness. What she says in response to Warren, however, really explains the nature of faith: “I should have called it [home] Something you somehow haven’t to deserve.” We don’t have to deserve or earn God’s love and protection, his presence in our lives; we simply have to believe it is there for us. We have to believe God is the home that always welcomes us. As Paul says resoundingly: “For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.” Believing we are never separated from God is the foundation of our faith.

There are two places in the Gospel of Matthew where the Lord mentions a mustard seed. One occasion is in Matthew 17:20, when He says, “For truly I tell you, if you have faith the size of a mustard seed, you will say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there,’ and it will move.” Jesus has a habit of explaining ideas by using familiar things from everyday life. Here he is simply saying, “You don’t have to have a whole lot of faith. You just need a tiny bit of faith to keep you going, and that will be enough. God will meet you more than halfway.” I wonder if the people who heard him say this were scratching their heads and looking at the mountains, as we might very well do here. People have a way of making things harder than they have to be. I sometimes imagine Jesus doing this [strike forehead with heel of hand] in exasperation. He asks for a little bit of faith, and we respond with questions. Lucky for us, he kept trying to get across the good news.

In the parables of today’s selection from Matthew, Jesus compares a mustard seed to the kingdom of heaven, and not just any mustard seed: one that grows into a plant the size of a tree, where birds can make nests in its branches. There is much to ponder here. Several times in the gospels, the Lord says that heaven is not something we have to wait for; instead, the kingdom of heaven is available to us right here, right now. One very specific example of that comes in Luke 17, when the Lord is speaking to the Pharisees: “And when he was demanded of the Pharisees when the kingdom of God should come, he answered them and said, The kingdom of God cometh not with observation. Neither shall they say, Lo here! or Lo, there! for behold, the kingdom of God is within you.” Like faith, heaven is always available to us if we take it to heart. For me, the Lord’s use of the mustard seed in both comparisons is very striking. Faith is like a mustard seed, and so is heaven. That sounds like a simple algebra equation: faith equals mustard seed equals heaven. And those birds who can build nests in the plant that grows from the tiny mustard seed of faith? They show us how to make a home for heaven by faith.
The next parable Jesus gives us about the kingdom brings me even closer to home. He says, “The kingdom of heaven is like yeast that a woman took and mixed in with three measures of flour until all of it was leavened.” Like the tiny mustard seed, yeast is something that grows and blesses beyond anyone’s wildest expectations. For me, just the smell of yeast bread baking is a hint of heaven. My mother, who passed away eighteen years ago, was the queen of yeast. Really, she was the queen of all baked things, but bread was something that came from her hands nearly every day of my growing up years. Hot rolls, soft loaves, biscuits, corn bread, spoon bread--I know I took those daily gifts for granted, but now I look back on my mother’s baking with amazement. Oh, and she also made the jellies and preserves to go with the bread! All that love, freely given, is the kind of love that builds a home in our hearts, a home that feels like heaven. It is a home that is always with us, even when we are physically removed from our actual geographical homes.

Maybe because we do have a tendency to take the everyday joys and blessings for granted, the Lord goes on to remind us that the kingdom of heaven is a treasure and a pearl of great price. Since it is always within us, always available to us when we turn our attention toward it, heaven is a blessing we can and should avail ourselves of. From my own experience, I know that I find heaven by my willingness to be fully aware of every present moment, to live with gratitude and joy every day. If that sounds a little farfetched to you, just think of all of the days we turn into hell when we dwell in fear, negativity, and useless worry. The Lord has a lot to say about the uselessness of worrying--you know the story about how even the lilies of the field and the birds of the air are cared for and protected by God.

For me, all of this comes back to home and faith and heaven, too, all being wrapped up in a feeling in my heart. I lost my dad fifteen years ago, but every day of my life, I think of both my parents and feel their presence in my heart. I have an ongoing conversation with them, facilitated by faith. If my faith tells me that heaven is in my heart, then that’s where Mama and Daddy are, too.

In a complex and frightening world, we struggle with seeing God in the big picture. When so many things don’t seem to work out the way we hope or expect, our faith falters. That’s when we need to remember that God is not just out in the big picture; he is also in our heart, and he is glad to be there. All we need is a little faith, and he’ll feel right at home.

The Chapel

2009-08-11T16:40:00.000-07:00

Below you will find a history of Graves Chapel, compiled by Doug Graves.

Graves Chapel, Graves Mill, Virginia, stands just outside the boundaries of Shenandoah National Park in the beautiful foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains. At the western edge of Madison County, it sits between Bluff Mountain Road (Rt. 618) on its south side and Kinsey Run to the north. For generations, the church has provided a place for worship, Sunday School classes, weddings, baptisms, community reunions, meetings, Gospel sings, and funerals. It even served—temporarily—as a school. Though it has served the community in many roles, to its parish members and friends in Graves Mill and the surrounding hills and hollows, it has always been most important as a location for prayer and reflection.

THE BEGINNING: Late Nineteenth Century

On October 14, 1886 “the Shiloh Baptist Association opened Graves Chapel at Graves Mill with thirty charter members” housed within the original sanctuary or main Chapel building which measures 28½ feet wide and 36 feet long. The exact date of construction for the Chapel building is unknown. However, within the sanctuary there is a sign stating “Graves Chapel Built 1885.”

The Shiloh Baptist Association Meeting Minutes state: “held at Mt. Lebanon Church Rappahannock County, Va…August 30 and 31, and Sept 1, 1887 [it] makes mention of [a] new Church Graves Chapel with delegate E. P. Estes present—also, that ‘Letters having been presented from three new churches, viz: Graves Chapel, Forest Grove, and Brandy, with applications for membership in this body…’ Also, under ‘Report on New Churches the Committee to which were referred the petitions of new churches for admission into the Association be leave to report: They find that the Graves Memorial Chapel Church was regularly organized the last day of October, 1886 under the advice of a council composed of Brethren C. F. James, T. F. Grimsley and T. W. Lewis. The Church presents a satisfactory confession of Faith and Church-Covenant, and sends regularly appointed messengers. We, therefore, recommend that the Church be received into our fellowship and be placed in the third district of the Association.’-respectfully submitted by J. W. McCown, Chairman, W. C. Stout, William A. Hill.”F F

Early records indicate that “on April 22, 1888, the Rev. Roy Temple addressed the Sunday School, with sixty-five people present and a collection of twenty-three cents [was received]. Oral history tells us that the two doors at the front of the building provided separate entrances for men and women, and in early days, men and women sat on different sides of the Chapel.”F

The Graves Mill residents primarily responsible for the organization of Graves Chapel were “Ed [Francis Edward] Graves, James Kite and Charlie Kite. Its early pastors were J.M. Farrar, Hugh Goodwin, Roy Temple, A. M. Grimsley, G. Gray, and A. J. Harlow.”F F Originally established as a Baptist Meeting House, it evolved into a community church. It provided all the normal pastoral services and offered space for community events as well.

Graves Chapel’s real estate comprises three parcels of land. The earliest or first parcel was donated by Francis Edward Graves and his wife, Mary Peach Hamilton. The deed dated May 16, 1883 states “that in consideration of the sum of one dollar the receipt of which is hereby acknowledged, the parties of the first part--there granted bargain and sold to the said Thomas J. Allen, Robert A. Burnett & James C. Chapman trustees as aforesaid a certain lot of land for the purpose of erecting thereon a Meeting House for public worship therein of the New School Baptist as known in contradistinction from other religious denominations and their successors in office for the use and benefit of said denomination for all time to come they the said Thomas J Allen Robert A Burnett and James C. Chapman associating with themselves the said F. E. Graves as Trustee in the management of the building of said Meeting house and the keeping the same in proper order.”F It is believed that this earliest structure was perhaps located just across Kinsey Run (on the north side) from its present site and because of possible flooding, was later moved to its present site on higher ground.F

As noted, Graves Chapel was established for the New School Baptist as opposed to “other religious denominations” which would have been the Primitive and/or Old School Baptist.F F The New School and Primitive Baptists differed theologically as to how clergy should be trained. The Primitive Baptist “believed that the scriptural pattern was for young ministers to apprentice or train under elder ministers, not in a seminary. These Baptists were of the Old School in faith and practice and became known as the Primitive Baptists. The churches which adopted the use of Missionary Societies, Sunday Schools and Theological Seminaries were of the New School and became known as Missionary Baptists.”F F Thus Graves Chapel was part of the Missionary Baptist group providing ministerial services along with offering Sunday School instruction as well and thus was titled, New School Baptist.

The second parcel of land for Graves Chapel is found within a deed dated April 1, 1893 “between James [E.] Estes of the first part and Lewis A. Nicholson, George Estes, E.[G.] W. Lillard, Asa Estes and James P. Kite, trustees of the second part all of Madison County Virginia Witnesseth that for and in consideration of the sum of one dollar the receipt of which is hereby acknowledged the said party of the first part doth grant unto the said trustees of the second part a certain lot or parcel of land lying in Madison Co. Va. on Jones’ Run [present day Kinsey Run] near Graves’ Mill adjoining the lands of the said James [E.] Estes and a lot deeded by F. E. Graves and Mary P. Graves [the first parcel above], his wife, to the Missionary Baptists, or Trustees for the benefit or use of the said Baptists.”F F The Estes property was located on the present day south side of Kinsey Run and perhaps it was at this time, the Chapel structure may have been moved across Kinsey Run to it’s present location.

The third and final deed of land comprising Graves Chapel is dated March 10, 1911 and it establishes the present day graveyard portion of the property. Within this deed, Mary Texas (Collins) Melton-Jenkins purchases a small parcel of land, from James W. Estes and his wife Mary (Mollie) Estes, and presumably donates it to Graves Chapel for the exclusive purpose: “the said lot is only to be used as a cemetery & no large trees to be planted in it.”F F So the above listed three deeds establish the present day boundaries of property known as Graves Chapel.

ANOTHER EARLIER CHURCH

Graves Chapel was not the first church on record within Graves Mill. The first Church on record was named New Hope or Bethel Church and was located adjacent to the Rapidan River (east side), approximately 1 mile north of present day Graves Chapel. It stood beside the old abandoned road which leads over Blakey Ridge to Criglersville.

New Hope was a Methodist Episcopal Church (during the Civil War the word “South” was added). So far as we know, the only documentation on record for this church facility is the originating deed and the deed selling and/or releasing the property. Thus, very little is known regarding this church. The deed dated November 29, 1828 established a one-acre parcel of land for the church. It states: “to cause to be built thereon a home of worship for the use of the members of the Methodist Episcopal Church in the United States of America…and adopted by the ministries of the said church at their general conference in the United States of America."F F

This church apparently had a close alliance with Graves Chapel. The Graves Chapel Baptist Sunday School ledger, May 6, 1888 states: “the above mentioned school [Graves Chapel Baptist Sunday School] was glad to receive the presentation of a large portion of the M. E. [Methodist Episcopal] Sunday School of New Hope and we would be glad if the same would be continuously (the remaining is illegible).”F F It was not uncommon for Baptist and Methodist Churches to occasionally join together and temporarily form a “Union Church…meaning the churches would join together…to have union meetings…to represent both denominations.”

Oral history indicates that an early school house used by the local children was originally located at the Methodist Church site along the Rapidan River. In the early 1900s, lighting struck the school and it burned. The children presumably then held their classes within Graves Chapel until the present Graves Mill School house was constructed c. 1906. F

The Church probably operated for several years until the property was sold to Thomas Reuben Daniel. This final deed is dated July 24, 1919 and was "between D.M. Pattie, W.H. Goodall & George E. Aylor, trustees for the M. E. Church South, …for the sum of $80.00 do grant unto Thomas Reuben Daniel that certain of lot (approx. 1-acre) situate on the Rapid Ann River, known as 'New Hope'”F F The exact date when the Methodist Church ceased operation is unknown.

THROUGH THE YEARS

Graves Chapel’s history is a mixture of oral and written documentation. Oral history treasured the revivals, the “high point of the year. There was a saying that you could count on peaches and the preacher in the third week of August. Women canned peaches, housed the visiting evangelists and prepared legendary potluck dinners which were served on hay wagons covered with the best household linens. There was much rivalry as to who made the best pies and cakes. Congregations were large and often worshippers stood in the yard as there was no room in the sanctuary.”

A ledger dated December 2, 1894, states that “the church would do her best to pay him [the preacher] seventy five dollars [per year].”F F Being without a Sexton, the brother or sister putting in the lowest bid should act as Sexton. Some of the duties included opening the church forty minutes before appointed time for service, building a fire, scrubbing, dusting, sweeping and cleaning windows before each service. Oil had to be kept in plentiful supply and lamps cleaned and in perfect order. Stoves were to be polished and the wood chopped and carried. The bids were handed in and read by the Pastor. Sister Edith E. Berrey’s bid of four dollars and ninety five cents was the lowest and she was declared Sexton for the next twelve months.F

During the early 1900’s, Graves Chapel was a busy place. Circuit preachers generally came only one Sunday a month to preach and lead worship; other Sundays there was Sunday School. The Shiloh Baptist Meeting Minutes for August, 1900, show Graves Chapel’s Sunday School enrollment as 72 individuals. In those turn-of-the-century years, it is likely the attendance could exceed 100 on the busiest Sundays. At a Shiloh Baptist Association meeting held between August 31st and September 1st, 1927, Graves Chapel Secretary Charles Gaston Jenkins reported that Graves Chapel had “seated 150” and there were “41 enrolled in Sunday School.”F

IN THE LATER YEARS
Chapel members decided they needed Sunday School classrooms, so in 1955, they built an addition onto the Chapel measuring 28 ½ feet by 30 feet. As much as possible, they used local materials and labor. They paid for cement, windows and the like with money women saved from their egg sales. The men donated the proceeds from harvests from “God’s acres” (land they set aside and dedicated to the Lord for a year).F

Though the congregation planned for expansion when it built the Sunday School rooms, the population of Graves Mill and the surrounding mountains was already declining, a decline beginning between World War I and World War II. Individuals left the farms and mountain homes where their families had lived for generations. They moved to the cities where they hoped for greater economic prosperity. In addition, the establishment of the Shenandoah National Park in 1936 displaced the families who had once lived within its boundaries. As the local population dwindled, the Graves Chapel congregation declined considerably. Declining attendance meant declining revenues and it became increasingly difficult to pay for preachers and their services

The following handwritten letter, found within the records of the Virginia Baptist Historical Society, summarizes Graves Chapel’s fate after its faithful service to Graves Mill and the surrounding mountains:

“September 3, 1969—To: Members of Rapidan and Beth Carr Baptist Church
Subject: Ministerial Services for Graves Chapel

The two Churches mentioned above asked for Graves Chapel Baptist Church to leave the field as an inactive Church. To get their own minister, it would be hard for the above mentioned Churches to explain Graves Chapel to (illegible). However, it would be difficult to get a minister for two Churches, let alone three. The third one being such a small Church.

The meeting concerning the Graves Chapel Congregation and the Rapidan and Beth Carr Baptist Church was held on July 29, 1969. The results of this meeting, Graves Chapel decided to stay in the field with the above Churches, but as an inactive Church due to the fact that Graves Chapel feels in the future that the Church may become active again. However, she still has her part in the Baptist parsonage at Pratts, Virginia. We feel this is the best course to follow.

For members of Graves Chapel Baptist Church
Dolly H. Seekford, Secretary”

In April, 1969 Graves Chapel closed its doors. It had served the community for eighty-three years. Soon after the last service, which was a Communion service, the Chapel sent the above letter to the members of Rapidan and Beth Car Baptist Churches. F F Oral legend has it that the reason for its closing was because the church members argued and couldn’t reach a consensus on the color to paint the Sunday School rooms. However the above letter indicates, possibly more accurately, that the closing was due to economic factors--a sign of changing times within the Graves Mill area.

A NEW BEGINNING

In April, 1979, exactly ten years after the last Baptist service, Graves Chapel reopened as an interdenominational fellowship under a board of volunteer clergy. In 1977, Charles Jenkins asked Jeannie Light to open the old church, but she demurred, saying that the first order of business was Bible study which she led in a nearby cottage where she lived. The Bible study grew, and in 1979 the members decided to refurbish the Chapel. Services were held at 4:00 p.m. by kerosene light. Finally, Charles Jenkins arranged for electricity to be installed within the Chapel before that first Christmas since “he couldn’t see very well by candles and lanterns.”F F After the church opened, the little congregation continued to grow and by the end of the year, they needed to decide how to organize as a church.

It may seem a major change for a country Baptist Church to become an Episcopal mission, but in the early 1900’s the Episcopal Church had established a string of missions throughout the Blue Ridge Mountains, including one referred to as the Old Rock Church on Middle River (Madison County). Its actual name was the Chapel of Remembrance and is located at Fletcher on the Madison County side of Middle River. Although these missions closed in the sixties, according to Graves Mill long-time resident James (Jim Elsie) McDaniel, when the Old Rock Church was flourishing it was common for Graves Mill residents to walk the three miles or so across the mountain ridges to Middle River--if there didn’t happen to be any “preachin” at Graves Chapel. Hence, some of the Graves Mill residents were familiar with the Episcopal Church. In addition, Clarence Chambers from Emmanuel Episcopal Church (Rapidan, Virginia) was a Lay Reader who had helped with preaching and services in those early Episcopal mountain missions. He took a personal interest in the little church and in 1980, Emmanuel Episcopal Church endorsed Graves Chapel. Since Jeannie Light was a member at Emmanuel Episcopal Church, in 1981 the Chapel congregation voted to become Episcopal and called her as its pastor. She began as Lay Reader, and in 1983, Episcopal Bishop Hall appointed her as Lay Missioner in Charge for Graves Chapel.

Subsequently the congregation established a thrift shop which provided food, clothing, furniture, and other items needed for the economically challenged individuals. It was named “The Light House” not for their Missioner, but because they hoped it would bring the light of hope to the disadvantaged. It operated out of the old and then closed Elmore (Elmo) Utz general store within Graves Mill and it became a large success.

In 1991, Episcopal Bishop Peter James Lee consecrated Graves Chapel as an Episcopal Mission. In the all-afternoon service, there were eight baptisms, five reaffirmations, and three new members received. Martyn Minns, Rector of Truro Episcopal Church, Fairfax assisted Bishop Lee, and Mr. Brady Johnson, Acting Director of Music from Truro played the refurbished Allen electric organ which Mrs. Arthur Mollé had donated in 1987. The Rev. Caroll Motsinger from Whitesel Music, Harrisonburg, had serviced the instrument and arranged for a sound system needed for the festivities. The Graves Chapel choir led the singing. At the time of the Consecration, the little church had a flourishing thrift shop, a food pantry, a monthly newsletter, and hosted weekly services with Communion once per month.

By 1993, Jeannie Light had served Graves Mill for fifteen years, and it seemed time for her to resign the charge, which she did. The Episcopal Dean of the Diocese’s Region Fifteen accepted responsibility for the congregation’s direction. Several members of the congregation led services, especially Ralph (Skip) McDanolds who was an accomplished Lector. Eventually, Piedmont Episcopal Church’s Vicar, Philip Johnston, and his wife Carol assumed responsibility and oversight, and services were held once per month. This arrangement continued for approximately two years until, because of declining attendance and the Johnston’s pending retirement, the congregation decided to cease operation.

The Baptists’ final service in April 1969 was a Communion service. When Ms. Light opened the church in April 1979, the Communion cups were still in the backs of the pews, holding the purple stain from the dregs of the last grape juice. On June 25, 1995, the dwindling Episcopal congregation celebrated its final service, also a Communion, just two days before an historic flood washed through the beautiful valley changing it forever. F

In October 1995, Rev. Brad Jackson assumed the pastoral leadership of Piedmont Episcopal Church in Madison from the retired Vicar Phil Johnston. Shortly thereafter, Piedmont Episcopal Church officially accepted complete oversight of the Graves Chapel building and vestry--a role which it maintains to this day.

On June 27, 1995, the Graves Mill valley was struck with a devastating flood. As the raging flood waters approached the Chapel, floating trees and debris lodged against trees in the cemetery: locust, cedars and an old silver maple (removed February 7, 2007). The resulting dyke provided a barrier against the main force of the flood, diverting the waters around the Chapel, and though the old church sustained some damage, it survived! Unfortunately, many other buildings nearby in Graves Mill were not so fortunate. They were lost forever, including the Graves Mill Post Office.

Though somewhat damaged, the Chapel continued to serve the community. Just a few days after the flood, The Red Cross set up a distribution center in the Chapel where residents were able to obtain much-needed supplies. The Graves Mill Post Office building had been located across Kinsey Run in front of the Graves Mill grist mill, but because it had been destroyed, the United States Postal service leased the missioner’s office in the Chapel where the post office continued to offer the full range of postal services until the post mistress, Mrs. Ruth Lillard, retired June 1, 2001. When Mrs. Lillard retired, the postal officials suspended the services of the official Graves Mill post office, services that had been available in the community since approximately 1828. Though no lives were lost in the flood, the waters not only destroyed several old buildings and at least one residence; it closed an historic institution which had defined the community for almost 175 years.

The Chapel has been a meeting place, worship space, and post office. In addition to all these roles, since about 1987, it has been the official location for the Graves Mill voting precinct. The earlier “voting house” as it was called, located just a few yards from the Chapel, served the community well for approximately 50 years. However, new laws required modern plumbing and handicapped access, so the Chapel’s Vestry offered the space and the community accepted. To this day, the Chapel serves as Graves Mill’s voting precinct.

PRESENT DAY

Today the Chapel serves as a community center for Graves Mill and is the voting precinct. Though it is Episcopal property, other denominations use the sanctuary on a temporary basis. Occasionally, couples choose to be married in the quaint Chapel. Visitors occasionally picnic on the Chapel grounds, inspect the graveyard, and enjoy the natural beauty of the vistas before them.

On April 18, 2009, Graves Chapel was honored by being a host to the Garden Club of Virginia to benefit the restoration of historic gardens through out Virginia. Graves Chapel was one of five locations chosen for the Orange Club Tour. A total of 525 people chose to visit the Chapel on that day.

On July 28, 2008, Lay Preacher Susan Hull (an earlier resident of Graves Mill) began offering Evening Prayer Services on the 4th Sunday of the month for worshipers in the beautiful nineteenth century structure. Thus, Graves Chapel lives on in the Blue Ridge Mountains, continuing its service to parish and community.

THE COVENANT

The following is a copy of the Graves Chapel Baptist Church Covenant which provides insight into the strong Christian beliefs and values of those individuals that established this Chapel and supported it for several of generations.

Our Church Covenant
Graves Chapel Baptist Church

Having been led as we believe, by the Spirit of God to receive the Lord Jesus Christ as our Saviour; on the profession of our faith, having been baptized in the name of the Father, and the of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost, we do now in the presence of God, angels and this assembly, most solemnly and joyfully enter into covenant with one another, as one body in Christ.
We engage therefore, by the aid of the Holy Spirit, to walk together in Christian love; to strive for the advancement of this church, in knowledge, holiness, and comfort; promote its prosperity, and spirituality; to sustain its worship, ordinances, discipline and doctrines; to contribute cheerfully and regularly to the support of the ministry, the relief of the poor and the spread of the gospel through all nations.
We also engage to maintain secret devotion; to religiously educate our children; to seek the salvation of our kindred and acquaintances; to walk circumspectly in the world; to be just in our dealings, and faithful in our engagements.
We further engage to watch over one another in brotherly love; to remember each other in prayer; to aid each other in sickness and distress to cultivate Christian sympathy in feeling and courtesy of speech; to be slow to take offence, always ready for reconciliation, and mindful of the rules of our Savior to secure it without delay.
We engage still again to at all times be ready to reason with other members of our church, especially the members of the board of deacons or pastor in case they should deem it wise to consult with, reprove, or correct us, with the understanding that more than [mutual respect] must always be present under such conditions. And further more we engage to submit to the erasure of our name from the roll when at any time we have been found guilty by the church of violating any of the above clauses, in case we are not willing to offer such apologies as are deemed necessary by the church.

BURIALS AND MARKERS WITHIN GRAVES CHAPEL GRAVEYARD
GRAVES MILL, VIRGINIA
(March 2009)

#1 Melton, Reuben M. born March 10 or 18, 1832 and died November 1, 1902. He was first a Blacksmith in Syria, Virginia and later, a blacksmith in Graves Mill. Reuben was a Civil War Veteran. He was within Co. "C" 4th Va. Cavalry (known as Madison County Invincibles) as a farrier. He first married Virginia Jackson Wallis. After the death of Virginia (1878), he secondly married Mary Texas Collins on January 16, 1879.One of the children from his first marriage was Virginia (Belle) Isabella Melton. She married John T. Sylba. After the death of Reuben, his wife Mary married John Lillard Jenkins. Mary and Reuben owned the Graves Mill Grist Mill and operated a general and millinery store upon their property along with the grist mill.
#1A Footstone of Reuben M. Melton—RMM.
#2 Memorial to Reuben M. Melton and his wife, Mary [Texas Collins] Melton Jenkins
#3 Small blank stone most likely marking the burial site of Mary Melton Jenkins. See #3-A for her
footstone.
#3A Footstone of Mary [Texas Collins] Melton Jenkins. Second wife of Reuben M. Melton. She was born March 29, 1844 and died within the fall of 1920. Mary was the third wife of John Lillard Jenkins and married John in 1907, after the death of her first husband Reuben M. Melton.
#4 John T. Sylva and his wife, [Virginia Isabella] Belle Melton Memorial. It is believed that both John and Belle are buried here although no individual stone is found for John. See #1 above-Reuben M. Melton for additional information.
#4A Footstone of Belle Melton Sylba—BMS, wife of John T. Sylva. She was born April 20, 1858
and died September 2, 1898. See #1 above-Reuben M. Melton.
#5 Arthur W. Cline 1915-2001. Mr. Cline was a strong supporter and participant of Graves Chapel while the Church was under the leadership of Lay Missioner Jeannie Light (years 1979-1993). Because of his involvement with the Church, his ashes (cremation) are interred here.
#6 Nina A. Slater Davis born March 4, 1901 and died May 8, 1992. Her ashes are here as is the case with her son, Everette J. Davis whose ashes are directly next to Nina’s. Nina was the maternal Grandmother of Vicki Anne Burke whom is the wife of James Carlton Seekford. James (Skeeter) Seekford is the son of the long time Graves Mill resident Dolly Madison Hawkins Seekford (died August 30, 2005-see #12).
#7 Everette J. Davis born August 17, 1930 and died January 10, 1992. He was the son of Nina A. Davis (#6-above). Both Everette and Nina were cremated and their ashes are interred here.
#8 Mary Elizabeth Yowell born November 10, 1906 and died August 18, 1915. She was the daughter of Annie L. Mauck and her husband, William F. Yowell. The Yowells lived above the Abraham Franklin Graves home which is presently (year 2009) located upon the property of Randall and Ruth Lillard. Annie was also the mother (father unknown) of Max Wilson Mauck whom is buried next to Mary-see #10.
#9 Depression-Here is a depression or sunken ground that may possibly be the burial location of an unknown individual. Within the Madison Exponent Newspaper (the earlier name of the present day Madison Eagle Newspaper) dated November 18, 1910, it contains a death notice for Claude Raymond Cole (born 1885-died November 11, 1910). It indicates that Claude was buried within the Graves Chapel graveyard, Graves Mill, Virginia [1910]. His parents were John W. Cole and Bettie M. Walker who had lived within the Stanton River area of the upper Rapidan River Valley. They moved to the Lynchburg area of the state. A later article within the Madison Exponent dated January 5, 1912 states that the Coles returned to Graves Mill to place a tombstone on their son’s gravesite at Graves Chapel. There is no tombstone at Graves Chapel locating this burial site. However, directly adjacent to and behind the Mary Elizabeth Yowell tombstone, is an extra base of a tombstone. The top portion of the stone, containing the name and other information, is missing! Ms Jeannie Light, the Lay Missioner for Graves Chapel between 1979 and 1993, indicated that rumor was that when Graves Chapel closed, in 1969, a family came to the Church and removed the remains of their loved one. They were concerned that since the Church had closed, the graveyard would not be maintained any further. Possibly, this sunken area was once the burial location of Claude Raymond Cole and the missing tombstone was his.

BURIALS AND MARKERS WITHIN GRAVES CHAPEL GRAVEYARD
GRAVES MILL, VIRGINIA
Continued
(March 2009)

#10 Max Wilson Mauck born March 20, 1883 and died October 6, 1975. Max lived and worked within the Graves Mill community his entire life. He never married, lived upon the property of various property owners, and was a general handyman. His mother was Annie L. Mauck who later married William F. Yowell-the step father of Max. Max is buried, a short distance away from his half-sister Mary Elizabeth Yowell # 8.
#11 Charles Gordon Jenkins Memorial born October 9, 1911 and died April 29, 1988. The memorial is in error, when it gives his name as Charles Gaston Jenkins. Charles Gaston Jenkins was the father of whom this memorial was placed namely, UCharles Gordon JenkinsU. Charles Gordon Jenkins was born and lived his entire life within Graves Mill. He was an extremely hard worker, had much humor and wit as the memorial states. Charles is buried within Graham Cemetery, located in Orange, Virginia. The memorial is for Charles Gordon Jenkins.
#12 Dolly Madison Hawkins Seekford born March 4, 1929 in Graves Mill, Virginia. She was the only daughter of James (Buck) Edgar Hawkins, Sr., and Mary Elizabeth Estes. She had two older brothers named Leon Murat Hawkins and James Edgar Hawkins, Jr. She married Roy Carlton Seekford, Jr., on September 4, 1948 in Orange, Virginia. From this union, two children were born. The first was Mary Alice Seekford and the second, James (Skeeter) Carlton Seekford. Dolly loved Graves Mill and Graves Mill became, in some respects, “Dolly”! Oh, did she enjoy talking about the ‘good ole times’–growing up in Graves Mill. She loved God, her parents, her children, her friends, her home, and most definitely—The Village of Graves Mill. Dolly became a single parent, early on. She raised her two children, educated them well, and provided individualized personal care for her Mother during her Mother’s last few years on this earth. Dolly did all of this, while maintaining a full time employment position with the United States Postal Service. She began her postmaster career at the Elmore (Elmo) Utz General Store within Graves Mill, on May 11, 1956. Upon the death of Mr. Utz in 1957, the post office was moved to a one room building, located on the property of the Graves Mill Grist Mill in Graves Mill. She was the postmaster there, until 1976 when she transferred to the Reva Park Post Office. She remained at Reva Park until her retirement in 1986. As the years passed on, Dolly’s health became an issue. On August 30, 2005, she “crossed over the river, to sit under the shade of the trees”……and passed away in Rocky Mount, Virginia. Here rest her ashes, placed here on October 8th, 2006, within the Graves Chapel graveyard. It is so fitting that she rest here within the Church she attended as a young child, an adolescent, and, as a married woman with children. Resting here—in the shadow of her beloved home---within the Church graveyard that she loved so dearly. May she rest in peace. We all loved her. We all miss her!