Homily for December 23, 2012

Always Christmas

Lessons:

 Canticle 15: The Magnificat

Micah 5: 2-5a

Hebrews 10:5-10

Luke 1:39-45

The Collect:

Purify our conscience, Almighty God, by your daily visitation, that your Son Jesus Christ, at his coming, may find in us a mansion prepared for himself; who lives and reigns with you, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.

Well, we have once again averted apocalypse. Maybe we should keep a record of every time this happens; having such a tally might help us to maintain perspective. At this time of year, when the scripture lessons point to the end of time and the Second Coming of Christ, the added element of the ominous Mayan calendar prediction of world’s end could make anyone a bit jumpy.

I’m not sure what it is in human nature that causes so many of us to be fascinated by the idea of Armageddon, but it does appear that we greatly prefer the thought of collective annihilation to any reflection on our own personal removal from this earthly realm, a fate that will come to each of us in due time.  Our preparation in Advent for both the birth and the Second Coming of Jesus Christ may have that very purpose—to turn our thoughts to an honest appraisal of our lives, of their meaning, and of their ultimate end. Christ’s glorious birth, his brief but world-changing ministry, and his violent death at a young age are components of a larger story—a story fulfilled by his resurrection and the promise it holds for us that there will be life after this life.

So, once again, I ask the question—why do some of us  spend so much time and energy thinking about Armageddon? Why do we worry about the end of time? A prophecy like that of the Mayan calendar disrupts our usual idea of apocalypse as something that could only happen in the far-distant future. We prefer to keep it there. Yet, every generation faces its own apocalypse. All of the people of the generation that founded Graves Chapel, for example, are no longer with us. While they were here, they lived from day to day, just as we do, enjoying their blessings and enduring their hardships.  Stepping out in faith, they kept this little church going, bequeathing it to succeeding generations. They knew, as we do, that a life lived in Christ contains much more than time’s calendar can measure. That is the message and the hope of Advent. Even though we look forward to celebrating the joyous birth of an innocent baby, Advent reminds us of the rest of Christ’s story and all that it means.

When Mary goes to visit her older cousin Elizabeth, who is finally expecting a child, we imagine Mary seeks wisdom and nurturing advice. After all, Mary has just been visited by the angel Gabriel and finds herself surprisingly pregnant. The encounter between the two women, recorded in Luke 1, reveals that each of them recognized the significance of the child she bore. Yes, there is the joy and fearful anticipation all expectant mothers feel, but there is also an understanding that their sons’ lives will follow an uncommon, difficult trajectory.

Elizabeth reports that the child in her womb, who would grow up to become John the Baptist, leapt at the sound of Mary’s voice. Elizabeth exclaims, “Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb. And why has this happened to me, that the mother of my Lord comes to me?”  This is the blessing and affirmation Mary needs from her cousin; at this point in Mary’s story it seems likely she has not confided in anyone that she is pregnant.  Now, before she has a chance to tell Elizabeth, not only does the older woman know, but the great-prophet-to-be Elizabeth carries also knows. They know that the infant in Mary’s womb is the long-expected Lord and Savior.

Mary’s eloquent response, so aptly called the Magnificat, is filled with hope and exultation for all of the things this Son of hers will mean for her people—for the poor and oppressed, the downtrodden children of Israel, who have wandered for too long in a spiritual wilderness, waiting for a sign from God. “He has mercy on those who fear him in every generation,” Mary says. In this speech, a very young woman speaks about the passage and the fullness of time, as if the baby she carries has already accomplished all the things expected of him. God, in choosing her as the vessel for the savior’s birth, “has cast down the mighty from their thrones, and has lifted up the lowly. He has filled the hungry with good things, and the rich he has sent away empty.” Yes, she is speaking of the history of God’s relationship with the people of Israel. But she is also speaking of the future, when the child she carries will change the world.  As we now know, that change was not something Jesus would live to see. Nor did Mary. However, the world has now existed through two millennia with the message of Jesus Christ, a message of peace and brotherly love, still holding sway in the hearts of many. 

As the collect for today states, it is not just the words of Jesus that live on in the hearts of contemporary Christians. We believe that Christ himself, through the Holy Spirit, is ever with us and within us. Advent asks us to remember our eternal guest, to keep our souls ready and open to receive Him. “Purify our conscience, Almighty God, by your daily visitation,” the collect says. Mindful that Christ comes to us at any time we turn our hearts toward him, we are called to cleanse our interior space so “that, at his coming, He may find in us a mansion prepared for himself.”  The child born in the town of Bethlehem, in a place reserved for the beasts, deserves nothing less from us than the best lodging we have to offer.

Time’s calendar and the church’s calendar bring us full circle during this season of the year.  Our preparations for Christ’s birth and for the ringing in of a new year signal opportunities for new beginnings. That we revisit these same festivals and bring out the same old ornaments and recipes every December suggests the human need for new beginnings.  As the collect for Christmas says, “O God, you make us glad by the yearly festival of the birth of your only Son Jesus Christ: Grant that we, who joyfully receive him as our Redeemer, may with sure confidence behold him when he comes to be our Judge.” Past, present and future, Christ’s and our own, are tied together in our celebrations. In the fullness of time, time itself is redeemed for us. What a great blessing!

My little granddaughter, Lillian Grace, celebrated her 4^th birthday on Thursday, December 20^th. One of the presents I gave her is a book I bought during the Advent of her birth year, when I was waiting in great joy and anticipation for the birth of my first grandchild. The beautiful picture book is called Little One, We Knew You’d Come.  This is the way it begins:  “We hoped. We dreamed. We watched for you. We counted the days till you were due. We waited. How we longed for you and the day that you were born.”  These are the thoughts of every expectant parent or grandparent. They also must have been Mary’s thoughts. In fact, the gorgeous illustrations for the book are scenes from the story of Jesus’s birth.  In the first pages, Mary is riding a donkey led by Joseph. Then, we see them in the stable. The book says, “It was late at night. The time had come. The time for you to come, my love. You’ll be here soon. We’re ready for you and the day that you were born. Little one, we knew you’d come.”  Notice the intermingling of past, present, and future in those words. It WAS late at night. You WILL be here soon. We ARE ready.  The day that you WERE born.  Our celebrations of this season exist in that timeless way. So does the Lord, about whom we say He was, is, and ever shall be.

In the next section of Little One, We Knew You’d Come, the baby is born. “By silver stars, and golden moon, at break of dawn, you came.”  The shepherds gathered by night on the hillside and the star that leads the wise men to the stable—we have always believed the baby Jesus arrived in the night. This sweet story suggests it could have been toward the break of dawn, appropriate for the world’s new beginning. Finally, the story ends with these words: “And every year, we remember you, our miracle child, our dreams come true. Oh, how we thank heaven for you! And the day that you were born!”

Are these not the words that any parent (or grandparent) could speak on the birthday of a beloved child? Have we not all been such a child at some time in the past, and doesn’t that child, like the Christ child, still live on within us?  As we look forward to the celebration of the birth of Christ, let us never forget that the true way to honor that birth is to love each and every child of God we encounter.

I pray that we may we make the mansions in our hearts big enough to hold all God’s children.

Amen.

Homily for November 25, 2012

 Christ the King

Psalm 93 or 132:1-13

John 18:33-37

Pilate entered the headquarters again, summoned Jesus, and asked him, "Are you the King of the Jews?" Jesus answered, "Do you ask this on your own, or did others tell you about me?" Pilate replied, "I am not a Jew, am I? Your own nation and the chief priests have handed you over to me. What have you done?" Jesus answered, "My kingdom is not from this world. If my kingdom were from this world, my followers would be fighting to keep me from being handed over to the Jews. But as it is, my kingdom is not from here." Pilate asked him, "So you are a king?" Jesus answered, "You say that I am a king. For this I was born, and for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth. Everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my voice."

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

“My kingdom is not from this world…my kingdom is not from here.”  So Jesus replies to Pilate’s bold question of him, “Are you the king of the Jews?”  In spite of Jesus’s firm testimony that he was no earthly king, Pilate had a placard, reading “The King of the Jews,” nailed to the cross above Christ’s head.

Today is the last Sunday in Pentecost; Advent begins next Sunday. This day is also known as “Christ the King” Sunday. From today’s gospel lesson, where Jesus is being interrogated by Pontius Pilate, we know we are nearing the end of his earthly story. In the church year, we are about to begin that story all over again, with the events in Bethlehem. Jesus’s words to Pilate challenge us to ponder exactly what kind of kingdom Jesus claims as his own. What kind of king is Jesus Christ?

Clearly there have been earthly kings, Jesus’s ancestor David included, who have abused their power and privilege. David was a great king and a (mostly) faithful servant of God—except for that ruinous incident with Bathsheba and her husband, David would have a clean record.  The world, as it is, being full of temptations, it is probably easier for us to think of the names of powerful kings who have indulged in bad behavior than to list the names of good kings. Henry the 8^th comes to mind immediately, what with his six wives and notoriously bad temper.

It’s a shame we don’t hear more about King Alfred, who ruled in Britain from 871 until 899 and is the only English king to have been given the appellation “Great.” In its commemoration of Alfred on October 26^th, our Episcopal book Lesser Feasts and Fasts says, “Alfred, alone of all English rulers, has been called ‘the Great’ because of his courage and Christian virtues.” As warrior king, Alfred, by establishing fortified defenses throughout the land and organizing a well-trained army, united the disparate groups of Anglo-Saxon people and led them to the defeat of the invading Danes. To expand the defenses of his island kingdom, he had a fleet of 60-oar longships constructed, and this small navy was critical in continuing to repel the Danish invaders. He oversaw the restoration and rebuilding of London, which had fallen into enemy hands. With peace and prosperity well in hand, Alfred was the first English king to codify a book of law, based on biblical law and guaranteeing the rights of the common people.

But those are not all of Alfred’s accomplishments. Believing that the people needed to be educated in their own language, Alfred had important religious and historical classics translated into English. In fact, he translated some of these documents himself, including Pope Gregory the Great’s handbook of pastoral care as well as the first fifty psalms. Alfred’s desire to spread the word of the Lord among his people was as great as his own desire to live and lead by that Word. It is said that King Alfred the Great accomplished all of these things by modeling his life on the life of Christ. He believed his duty as king was to serve as a Christ-like example to his people, to care for them as a pastor cares for his flock.

When Jesus says to Pilate, “My kingdom is not from this world,” he doesn’t tell us what that kingdom of his will be like. Power-brokers like Pilate and ruthless kings like Herod can’t begin to imagine the kind of kingdom Jesus speaks of.  Like King Alfred the Great, the only thing we contemporary Christians know for sure about a kingdom ruled by Jesus Christ is how his subjects are to be treated. Following the teachings of his Lord and Saviour, King Alfred loved his people, protected them as a shepherd protects his sheep, and sought to do what was best for them, as a father does for his children. A good king is a pastor, a father, and a shepherd.

There is an old hymn, based on the 23^rd psalm, that beautifully expresses all of these things about Christ the King.  It goes like this:  “The King of love my shepherd is, whose goodness faileth never. I nothing lack if I am his and he is mine forever. Perverse and foolish oft I strayed, but yet in love he sought me, and on his shoulder gently laid, and home, rejoicing brought me. And so through all the length of days, thy goodness faileth never; Good Shepherd may I sing thy praise within thy house forever.”  Amen.

Homily for October 28, 2012

    

 Reason to Give Thanks

Lessons:

Jeremiah 31:7-9

Psalm 126

The collect for today begins with these words: “Almighty and everlasting God, increase in us the gifts of faith, hope, and charity.” Those three gifts are outlined most beautifully  in 1^st Corinthians 13, where charity, or love as it is now translated, is said to be the greatest gift of all. This beautiful chapter from the epistle is often read at weddings. Because my mother was the most complete embodiment of the text that I had ever encountered, I asked to have 1^st Corinthians 13 read at her funeral.

In his letter to the Corinthians, Paul is clearly defining what it means to be a mature Christian. Verse 11 famously states: “When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child; when I became an adult, I put an end to childish ways.” Ultimately, according to Paul, it is love, and the wisdom of love, that sustains believers through their lives, even through the most difficult of times.  To quote again from the passage: “Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.” God’s love for us (and our love for God and for one another) gives Christians hope and strengthens our faith. Paul’s beautiful words again: “Love is patient. Love is kind. Love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way…Love never ends.”

In today’s lesson from Jeremiah 31, the prophet has shifted from his usual voice of lamentation to one of praise and thanksgiving. After years in exile, their punishment for faithlessness and disobedience, the children of Israel have reason for hope. Jeremiah proclaims the faithful remnant will be rewarded. God promises to make a new covenant with the remaining people of Israel and to restore them to their land. Who are the people among this faithful remnant? Are they the wealthy, the powerful, the members of the king’s family? As Jeremiah sees them, they are “the blind and the lame,  those with child and those in labor.” They are “the meek, who will inherit the earth” in the words of Christ. These are the ones who, having little else, are kept going by their love and kindness, by their humility and faith, by their hope in God’s mercy. Faith, hope, and love.  Through Jeremiah, God promises to be their father and to offer them the long-awaited consolation. In return, God asks only for gratitude. As Jeremiah puts it:  “Sing aloud with gladness, proclaim, give praise and say, ‘Save O Lord your people, the remnant of Israel.”

If Jeremiah’s words are the call, then Psalm 126 echoes the appropriate response: “When the Lord restored the fortunes of Zion, we were like those who dream. Then our mouth was filled with laughter and our tongue with shouts of joy; then it was said among the nations, ‘The Lord has done great things for them.’ The Lord has done great things for us, and we rejoiced.”

Why is the gift of rejoicing borne of gratitude such a potent thing? This kind of joy has to commence from recognition, from the moment of awareness that one’s life is blessed.  As we might all agree, the moments when we see ourselves as blessed are too few and often far between. This is not to say that our blessings are few—far from it. If we choose to see our lives in the light of blessedness, we can find something to be grateful for at any given moment.  When we do turn our hearts in gratitude to God, we know that the Lord is always present with us, as present as our many blessings. This affirmation, always available to us in gratitude, reinforces our faith, hope, and love.

When times are tough and our days feel shadowed by worry, fear, or relentless gloom, it can be hard to recognize the ways we are blessed. I think of the gifted spiritual masters of the Middle Ages and wonder how they held onto faith, hope, and love. The Middle Ages have also been called the Dark Ages, beset as they were by ignorance, superstition, plague, and war. The beloved mystic Dame Julian of Norwich survived the plague and her own life-threatening illness. As she was recovering from illness, she had a series of visions from God, recorded by her priest and known as The Revelations of Divine Love. Wishing to serve and worship God in a way unique to the Middle Ages, Dame Julian spent many years as an anchoress, literally walled into a tiny room attached to her church. Having no doors, her room had only two small openings, too small to be called windows, one to the outside world and one to the church. Through the opening to the church, she received communion. Through the opening to the outside world, she received food and water. Through that same small opening, she counseled the numerous pilgrims who sought her out for spiritual advice. Today, we remember Julian from the words revealed to her in her vision of divine love: “All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.” Blessed assurance!

Meister Eckhart was a German theologian, philosopher, and Dominican priest whose writings may have influenced Dame Julian. Also considered a mystic, Eckhart made a profoundly simple statement about prayer that is widely quoted today: “If the only prayer you said in your whole life was, ‘thank you,’ that would suffice.” 

Gratitude is the key to happiness. If you don’t believe that is true, consider all of the people you know who constantly complain because something always seems to be going wrong in their lives. From where we stand, these people may be blessed with comfortable homes, good jobs, and loving families. Still, they complain. Maybe that’s why Meister Eckhart emphasized the value of a simple “Thank you.”

First on our list of things to be grateful for might be the gifts Paul outlined in 1^st Corinthians 13: faith, hope, and love. Since these intangible gifts may be hard to define, easy to slip from our grasp, and often out of our field of awareness, they may not seem all that important. But they are all we need to get by. 

Amen.

Homily for September 30, 2012

God Is On Our Side

Psalm 24     

“If the Lord had not been on our side, let Israel say, if the Lord had not been on our side when enemies rose up against us, then they would have swallowed us up alive.”

The first verses of Psalm 124 say something very fundamental about our relationship with the Lord: God is on our side. That is the essence of faith: trusting that God is on our side.

The psalmist is looking back to the time of the flight from Egypt, when the Red Sea parted and allowed the Israelites to cross over, pursued by an army of Egyptians in chariots. In these words they remind themselves that, because of the Lord’s protection, they were NOT overwhelmed by the waves, nor did their enemy capture them like easy prey.

We may not have many examples as dramatic as that one, but if we reflect on the course of our lives, we will be able to find plenty of evidence that God is on our side. This is true even when we endure difficult situations, as the Israelites did on their flight out of Egypt. Even though there are no promises in scripture that bad things won’t happen to us—injury, illness, poverty, betrayal, grief and even death are all part of the human condition—even though we know we are not immune from the bad stuff, we can count on God’s mighty presence with us as we face every difficulty. How much more should we be able to recognize that God is obviously with us on the good days, which for most of us, far outnumber the bad!

On bad days and good, there are too many reasons, including simple distraction, that make it hard for us to remember that God is on our side, always present in our lives. If you are like me, you know what it’s like to chafe and agonize over the trifling annoyances of everyday life—to worry about things that end up not being worth worrying about. Sometimes we do face difficult challenges, and then worrying seems impossible to avoid.  However, Paul tells us in Philippians 4:6, “There is no need to worry about anything.”  In all circumstances, whether we make ourselves aware of God’s presence or not, God is there with us.

One of the most important spiritual lessons I’ve learned (and, of course, I often have to relearn it) is that it’s easier to change my behavior than my thoughts. When I first heard a very wise mentor say that, I found it hard to believe. How is it possible to be filled with a torrent of emotions, anger and fear leading my thoughts in all kinds of directions, and behave with calm serenity?  At such a time, how can I let go of these feelings and trust that God is on my side? Bernadette, bless her, explained that feelings follow actions, that if I acted as if everything were okay, my feelings would conform to my actions. Even though I was very skeptical of the wisdom being shared with me, when I tried to act as if, I found Bernadette was exactly right. A change in behavior has to precede a change in thoughts and feelings.

Remember what it’s like being a little kid and having your parents insist that you stand up straight, be quiet, and use good manners?  Maybe right at that moment your brother has done something completely unacceptable, and you really need to give him a shove, but you have just arrived at Aunt Sally’s front door and you know you have to listen to your parents—or else. So, even though you have an interior scowl, you straighten up and behave as you should. Later, when you think about it, you wonder why you got so mad anyway and shrug it off.

That’s really how feelings follow behavior, and it’s pretty simple. Feelings can be all about drama, but behavior has to be about reality. The problem is, when we are adults, we don’t have our parents around to tell us to straighten up and behave. We have to tell ourselves that, and we are not always very good at self-monitoring. Truth be told, when I am caught up in a feeling, especially when self-righteousness is involved, the last thing I want to do is let go of it and behave as if it didn’t matter. That’s when self-awareness, or the spiritual practice of mindfulness, becomes essential. I have to listen to the angel of my better nature, turn my thoughts fully to the reality of the present moment, and simply behave as if all is well. I know all of you have been there, too, and you may be better at this than I am. Letting go and letting God takes practice, doesn’t it?  Ultimately we realize it is always worth the effort, and in the moment of truly letting go, we can trust that God is on our side.

This process of bringing ourselves to full attention is the reason why Richard Rohr says prayer is “primarily a stance.” In his book on contemplative prayer called Everything Belongs, he says, “Prayer is not primarily saying words or thinking thoughts.” By stating that prayer is, instead, a stance, Rohr means that we truly pray when we let go of feeling and thinking and are fully present with God, standing firm in the assurance that God is on our side.

Remember the Red Sea?  Just before Moses lifts his staff and stretches his hand over the sea to divide it, he says to the people: “Do not be afraid. Stand firm and see the deliverance that the Lord will accomplish for you today, for the Egyptians whom you see today you shall never see again. The Lord will fight for you, and you have only to keep still.” (Exodus 14:13-14)

Those words hold true today. 

Amen.

Living in the Spirit

Homily for Sunday, July 26, 2012

Psalm 85   (Responsive reading #540)

Proverbs 9:1-6

John 6:56-69

 

Jesus said, “Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood abide in me, and I in them.” As arresting and disturbing as those words are, we Christians understand that Jesus is using symbolism. He is not speaking literally, and we know that was his custom. Most of his teachings were symbolic since he usually instructed in parables. But the significance of his words cannot be understated. Jesus reminds us with these words that he gave his flesh and life’s blood for us in dying on the cross. In the sacrament of the communion, the bread and the wine join us to Jesus and to one another.  As hard as these words are for  the disciples—they say, “This teaching is difficult. Who can accept it?”—Jesus wants them and us to know that he is always as much with us and within us as the very food we eat.

After Christ spoke those difficult words—“Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood abide in me and I in them”—some of his followers abandoned Him. Although they did not fully grasp what He was saying, they understood one thing: the way of Jesus was a hard way. They didn’t listen to his next words: “It is the Spirit that gives life; the flesh is useless. The words that I have spoken to you are spirit and life.”  No, we don’t literally eat the flesh of Christ and drink his blood whenever we take communion. But through the power of the Lord and the mystery of that power, the spirit of life that calls us together at the feast enters our hearts and souls and lightens the way.

The disciples often seemed to have trouble deciphering the symbolism in the words of Jesus. I understand the frustration Jesus sometimes expressed when they didn’t comprehend his meaning. You see, I spent 30 years as a high school English teacher, and teaching symbolism was my stock-in-trade. These days, teachers seem to be held in such low esteem by American society that I am generally reluctant to reveal my former profession. I am also well aware that for many people, English teachers were not their favorites. Still, I came to understand and I still believe that an ability to decipher the meaning of the many symbols we encounter in our lives is very important. For Christians, it is most crucial to grasp the symbolism in the words of Jesus.

“Why bother with symbolism?” some of my students would ask. “Why can’t this guy say what he means straight up?”  My answer? “A symbol arrests your attention and has an impact. You will remember it and recognize it if you encounter it again.”

If you think about it, the Old Testament prophets, and Isaiah in particular, associated Jesus with signs and symbols generations before his birth. In Isaiah 7, we read, “Therefore the Lord himself will give you a sign. Look, the young woman is with child and shall bear a son and shall name him Immanuel”…and in Isaiah 9, “For a child has been born for us, a son given to us, authority rests upon his shoulders; and he is named Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.”  Remember what the angels told the shepherds on the starry hillside near Bethlehem? “This shall be a sign unto you; you shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger.”  The infant Jesus was recognized first by the symbol of his poverty: his crib was an animal’s trough. All of the things this baby will grow up to represent can best be conveyed through symbols.

So, it shouldn’t be a surprise the young Messiah grows up to speak in symbolic language. He understands the weight symbols carry. What if, on the night of the last supper when Jesus shared the bread and wine with his disciples he had said to them, “Every time you have dinner together and share bread and wine, think of me”? They probably would have responded with the equivalent of these words: “Sure, we’ll think of you, old pal” and then gone on with their lives, forgetting. Knowing human nature as he did, Jesus said instead:  “ Take, eat: This is my body which is given for you. Do this for the remembrance of me…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.”  These shocking, powerful, symbolic words stayed with the disciples and formed the institution of the Holy Eucharist.  Because of that symbolism, every time we break Christ’s body and drink his blood, sharing the bread and wine, we remember that Christ died to save us and that he is always with us, within us, in the presence of the Holy Spirit.

Today’s lesson from Proverbs, with Lady Wisdom as the central figure, contains symbolism that connects it closely to the Eucharist. Wisdom is depicted by Proverbs as the feminine aspect of God, God the mother if you will, and in this story, she is behaving in very motherly ways when she prepares a dinner, mixes the wine, and sets the table. If a symbol is something familiar from ordinary life that is used to stand for a larger idea, then Lady Wisdom, as a mother figure who is hospitable, inviting, and nurturing, is a strikingly recognizable symbol of wisdom operating as inclusive love. She, like Christ, invites all to her table, saying, “Come, eat of my bread and drink of the wine I have mixed.”

I say she invites all of us, even though the text says she calls to the “simple,” which may mean the unwise. When God addresses us humans, it is not a bad idea to admit we are “simple” in her eyes, don’t you think? In another sermon, I quoted musician T-Bone Burnett on humility. Old T-Bone says, “As soon as you think you’re being humble, you are no longer humble.”  I believe the same could be said about wisdom. It is certainly humble, and probably wise, to consider ourselves simple, and Jesus modeled both simplicity and humility in the way he lived his life. To all of us who struggle with being truly wise, Lady Wisdom tells us to “walk in the way of insight,” to seek to be understanding and compassionate, and in that way we will “lay aside immaturity” and grow into mature wisdom.

So, if you are like me, knowing what I’m supposed to do and being able to do it can be very different things. Maybe, instead of over-thinking everything, we can simply try to live our lives as Jesus did. And how did Jesus live his life? In love; in fellowship with everyone he encountered; in caring for the poor and sharing in their poverty; in healing the sick; in offering comfort to the suffering; in thanksgiving for the blessings received from God. When Jesus calls himself the “way,” this is the way he means.

As Paul writes in his letter to the Galatians, a life lived in the way of Jesus will bear certain fruits: “love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.” The guidance of the indwelling Spirit will bring us to the understanding, compassionate maturity Lady Wisdom asks us to manifest in our daily lives. Psalm 85 expresses how these fruits become apparent with these words: “Mercy and truth are met together. Righteousness and peace have kissed each other.”

Striving for wisdom, coming together in community, modeling our lives after the life of Jesus—this sounds like real work, as if living a Christian life is a project we undertake. Well, it kind of is.  And in the nature of a project, it can be left undone and fall into neglect if we only work at it every now and then.  Working on this project, we can struggle when we try to figure out how to do faith. Like many of the abstract ideas that symbolism is supposed to represent, faith can be a mystery and a challenge.

I’d like to share with you some words on the faith project by a former presiding bishop of the Episcopal Church, Father Edmund Browning: 

For me and for every other faithful Christian I know, the life of faith is a daily challenge…The things that happen in this old world puzzle and sadden me. I do not understand God’s plan much more often than I understand it. To me, faith is not very dependent on understanding. It is, rather, a decision about where I will put my life’s energy. I choose to live with reference to God, and that choice orders other choices in my life…I know that our faith seems like superstition to some outsiders…But the religious project is NOT about superstition. Superstition is all about magic: controlling events in this world by drawing on the power of another. Faith is not about controlling anything. It is based on the undeniable fact that human existence is brief and fragile, and on the careful hope in a larger reality…People of faith know they are going to experience the same sorrows as everybody else. We just affirm that we never face them alone.

That is what the bishop has to say about faith, and he clearly considers himself to be one of the simple ones…a very wise man, indeed. Working every day simply to live as much in the way of Jesus as we can, we become by doing.  We find peace as we seek it. We show the simplicity of wisdom when we choose to trust that God is on our side. And when we turn our thoughts inward, we are assured that Christ abides there.                   Amen.

"Taste and See That the Lord Is Good"

Homily for Sunday, July 29^th

Lessons:

Psalm 34 

2 Kings 4:42-44

A man came from Baal-shalishah, bringing food from the first fruits to the man of God: twenty loaves of barley and fresh ears of grain in his sack. Elisha said, "Give it to the people and let them eat." But his servant said, "How can I set this before a hundred people?" So he repeated, "Give it to the people and let them eat, for thus says the LORD, `They shall eat and have some left.'" He set it before them, they ate, and had some left, according to the word of the LORD.

Ephesians 3:14-21

I bow my knees before the Father, from whom every family in heaven and on earth takes its name. I pray that, according to the riches of his glory, he may grant that you may be strengthened in your inner being with power through his Spirit, and that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith, as you are being rooted and grounded in love. I pray that you may have the power to comprehend, with all the saints, what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, so that you may be filled with all the fullness of God.

Now to him who by the power at work within us is able to accomplish abundantly far more than all we can ask or imagine, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus to all generations, forever and ever. Amen.

John 6:1-21

Jesus went to the other side of the Sea of Galilee, also called the Sea of Tiberias. A large crowd kept following him, because they saw the signs that he was doing for the sick. Jesus went up the mountain and sat down there with his disciples. Now the Passover, the festival of the Jews, was near. When he looked up and saw a large crowd coming toward him, Jesus said to Philip, "Where are we to buy bread for these people to eat?" He said this to test him, for he himself knew what he was going to do. Philip answered him, "Six months' wages would not buy enough bread for each of them to get a little." One of his disciples, Andrew, Simon Peter's brother, said to him, "There is a boy here who has five barley loaves and two fish. But what are they among so many people?" Jesus said, "Make the people sit down." Now there was a great deal of grass in the place; so they sat down, about five thousand in all. Then Jesus took the loaves, and when he had given thanks, he distributed them to those who were seated; so also the fish, as much as they wanted. When they were satisfied, he told his disciples, "Gather up the fragments left over, so that nothing may be lost." So they gathered them up, and from the fragments of the five barley loaves, left by those who had eaten, they filled twelve baskets. When the people saw the sign that he had done, they began to say, "This is indeed the prophet who is to come into the world."

When Jesus realized that they were about to come and take him by force to make him king, he withdrew again to the mountain by himself.

When evening came, his disciples went down to the sea, got into a boat, and started across the sea to Capernaum. It was now dark, and Jesus had not yet come to them. The sea became rough because a strong wind was blowing. When they had rowed about three or four miles, they saw Jesus walking on the sea and coming near the boat, and they were terrified. But he said to them, "It is I; do not be afraid." Then they wanted to take him into the boat, and immediately the boat reached the land toward which they were going.

Collect:

O God, the protector of all who trust in you, without whom nothing is strong, nothing is holy: Increase and multiply upon us your mercy; that, with you as our ruler and guide, we may so pass through things temporal, that we lose not the things eternal; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

Homily:

“Taste and see that the Lord is good.”

In this valley, tasting and seeing that the Lord is good is a long-standing tradition.  Today we will honor the many good cooks Graves Mill has produced by carrying on an old chapel tradition with our 5^th Sunday dinner on the grounds. Breaking bread together, sharing our blessings with one another, we commemorate Jesus’s feeding of the five thousand. 

Seeing that the Lord is good has also been a blessing of this valley. Since its first settlers arrived in the 1700s, the breathtaking beauty of Graves Mill has attracted people and made them want to stay here.  For those early colonizers, many of whom came from the British Isles, this place must have looked like home.  Graves, Jenkins, Hawkins, Lillard, Estes, McDaniel, Berry—these are just some of the family names of the folks who found our valley and these blue mountains as familiar as England, Scotland, or Wales.

In Friday night’s opening ceremony of the Olympics, the landscape, history, and culture of the British people were celebrated. Being an English major and an unapologetic Anglophile, I loved the whole show.  The pastoral scenes, with green pastures, milling sheep, and Glastonbury Tor in the distance certainly reminded me of Graves Mill. Unlike Britain, where the industrial revolution overshadowed the rural culture, Graves Mill has remained a farming community. A hundred years ago, there was a narrow gauge railroad that ran all the way from Somerset in Orange County right by this chapel and up into the mountains, built by a lumber company. Imagine how many trees they must have extracted from these hills to make their investment in a timber train  worthwhile. Now, I don’t know if any trace of the railroad remains. I’ve never come across one. The idyllic rolling pastures have prevailed.

The setting for today’s famous gospel story takes place on such a pastoral hillside. Jesus, the good shepherd, has attracted quite a flock around him, hungry for his words and loath to leave.  He certainly could have said a prayer of blessing over them, dispersed them, sent them home.  But that was not his plan. As in the story of the prophet Elisha, Jesus wants to demonstrate the gracious generosity of God to the 5000 people gathered near him. His disciples are in disbelief when he says he will feed all 5000 of them with five loaves of bread and two fish.  After Jesus tells the people to sit down, he himself says a prayer over the food and passes among all of those gathered, giving them bread and fish, enough to satisfy their hunger and some to spare.  As in the Last Supper, when he breaks bread and shares bread and wine with his disciples, Jesus shows us how to value the intimacy of dining with others.

Prefiguring the sacrament of communion, when we break and share the body and blood of Christ, the feeding of the five thousand represents a fundamental facet of our faith: love.  We love one another enough to take care of each other’s most basic needs.  Feeding hungry people is simply what we are supposed to do.

Surely some of those 5000 believed magic had been performed on their behalf, and believing that, they wanted to make Jesus their king. This miracle, however, is not about magic, and it’s certainly not about the power of kings. A king would deal in gold and silver and jewels, in all the trappings of majesty, NOT in simple barley loaves and fish. A magician, like a genie, might grant you three wishes or help you to win the lottery, but a magician would have no interest in feeding you. Bread is simply not the stuff of power or magic.  It is the stuff of Jesus and of everyday life.

Both in the way he represents his own body as bread and in the way he feeds bread to the multitude, Jesus tells us that he is part of our everyday world. He is with us and within us.  It’s not magic…it’s just love. And like life, love is an everyday miracle that we tend to take for granted.

“Taste and see that the Lord is good.”

Amen.

A Meditation on Fear and Faith

Homily for Sunday, June 24, 2012     Buck Mountain and Graves Chapel

Lessons:

1 Samuel 17: (1a, 4-11,19-23) 32-49

Psalm 9: 9-20

2 Corinthians 6: 1-13

Mark 4: 35-41

The Charlie Brown Christmas special, which has been airing every December since I was a child, features those famous Peanuts cartoon children, creations of the late Charles Schultz. Of course, we come to realize as we grow older that Charlie Brown and his fellow inhabitants of the Peanuts world are really more like miniature adults than real children. In the half-hour Christmas special, Lucy van Pelt convinces Charlie Brown that he needs some advice from his psychiatrist—that would be herself. She charges a nickel for her services and then pelts dear Charlie with questions about the things he fears.  Finally, she asks him, “Do you think you have pantophobia?”  Charlie asks, “What’s pantophobia?” and Lucy replies, “The fear of everything.”  Charlie Brown doesn’t hesitate a second before  replying, “That’s it.!”  Dear Charles Schultz really understood the human condition pretty well.

Fear.  It is almost always with us, and since fear concerns the future, what may be, it keeps us from being fully present in the current moment, where life is, almost all of the time, pretty wonderful. The future we tend to inhabit in fear is not a real place. God can’t be found there. When we are lost in our fears, we isolate ourselves from God. Even when the present time we are experiencing is painful or difficult, staying focused on what we need to do to get through it and turning to God in prayer will always have a better outcome than letting ourselves succumb to fear and push God aside.

Anxiety. Worry. Sorrow. Anger. Fear can be at the root of all these feelings. If I’m anxious about a task I’ve been given, it’s probably because I’m afraid I won’t be able to do it—I may fear I lack the time or the skills to complete the job satisfactorily.  If I’m worried about a loved one who is late in arriving home, I may fear he has been in an accident.  Sadness can be the result of fearing there is no hope, that what I’m experiencing now cannot get better. Even the bluster of anger can disguise the fear beneath it—a parent may react with a burst of anger at a child who could have hurt herself doing something foolish or dangerous.  Fear compels. Fear also fascinates.

Picture this: You are a teenager, put in charge of your younger siblings and cousins at a family gathering. In a game of hide and seek or tag, you are IT, and you stalk your prey. When you come upon a gaggle of the little tykes, you shout “Boo!” They squeal in an instant of genuine terror, run off in all directions, but then scamper back to you, giggling and eager for more. We seem to learn as children that fear can be fascinating fun. Our relationship with fear is a complicated one.

We love scary stories and scary movies, even though a simple reminder of one, say hearing a few seconds of the Jaws theme song, can send our hearts racing.  I wonder if our childhood games are descended from the training primitive parents gave their children in how to hunt (or evade) the very dangerous beasts that inhabited their world. Prehistoric people lived in a world fraught with immediate danger—surviving from one day to the next was their sole preoccupation.  Fear and the adrenaline-charged responses to it were lifesaving.

So does human prehistory explain why fear is still so much a part of our lives? For most 21^st century Americans, at least for those of us here today, simply surviving from day to day is not a challenge. We sleep in comfortable homes, trust that our cars will start when we plan to drive somewhere, have access to decent health care when we need it, and don’t live anywhere near saber-toothed tigers. Yet, we often persist in letting fear compel our thoughts and motivate our actions. Christ may very well say to us, as he said to the disciples in the midst of the storm, “Why are you afraid? Have you still no faith?”  Christ entered history 2000 years ago to offer an alternative to life-usurping fear.  

“Why are you afraid? Have you still no faith?”  Today’s lesson from Mark is one of those gospel moments when I can’t help but feel a little sorry for the disciples who awaken Jesus to hear those words. Storm-tossed at sea in a small wooden boat, they seem justified in their fear. But the key word Jesus speaks is “still.” They know Jesus, they have seen him perform miracles, and he thinks they should know by now that He can be trusted to save them.  As to the rest of us Christians, fear comes easily to the disciples when they forget the essential message of our faith. We no longer need to fear death.

So why does David get it right? Why is the boy David not afraid of Goliath? Is courage the opposite of fear?  To Saul and to David’s brothers (and probably to every other onlooker) David’s going out to meet the giant Goliath in battle must have appeared more foolhardy than courageous.  This is the people’s first introduction to David, who will go on to become Israel’s greatest (and most beloved) king.  Over the course of his long life, David makes some terrible mistakes, but his confrontation with Goliath is not one of them. He may look like a simple boy with a slingshot, but he is well-armed. The source of his courage is his faith, and it is faith that is the opposite of fear.  After the ugly giant taunts and curses him, David responds, “You come to me with sword and spear and javelin; but I come to you in the name of the LORD of hosts, the God of the armies of Israel, whom you have defied. This very day the LORD will deliver you into my hand, and I will strike you down and cut off your head.”  David depends on the Lord for his victory over certain death, and his faith is rewarded. It is that kind of trusting faith Jesus wanted from his disciples in the storm- tossed boat.

Paul says to the Corinthians, “I speak as to children—open wide your hearts also.”  In these brief words, I believe Paul is alluding to the aspect of child-nature that makes faith easy for the young. Children are very trusting, and that willingness to be vulnerable may be why Christ said, “I tell you, unless you change and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.” In today’s world, we wish children were not so trusting, and parents and grandparents hover nearby, teaching them not to speak to strangers. We wish fear could always be just part of a game for our children. Remember how  children return to play so easily even after they have been terrified by IT?  They are able to put aside their fear because they trust that the grown-ups in their lives will always be there to protect them. The Lord wants all of us, like children, to believe in him with complete trust, to embrace him like a sister or a mother, a brother or a father, and not avoid him like a stranger when we are afraid.

We defeat fear with faith. We can also overcome fear with love.

Like a modern-day soldier, it is not only David’s love of God that sends him into battle with Goliath.  He also loves his country, his people, and his family.  I bet we all have personal stories of someone we know who stood strong in a fearful situation because of love.  Our best example of the connection between love and faith is Jesus Christ himself. Knowing the gruesome cross was coming, he persisted in following faithfully the path before him so that he could give his life for us. As we say, there is no greater love than this.

If the fear of death is our most basic and underlying fear, then we have not fully accepted the self-sacrifice of Jesus as a price he paid so that we might have life eternal. Like the disciples in the boat, we still become fearful for our lives in every storm. Jesus’s words are intended for us: “Why are you afraid? Have you still no faith?”

He invites us to let go of our fear and let him protect us.  Amen.