Jan 28, 2024 |
St. Paul’s Top Five
| The Rev. Gabriel LawrenceSt. Paul’s Top Five
On this day, we mark the feast of our patron, St. Paul. On
the Church’s calendar, our patronal feast falls on the 25th of January, but the
prayer book allows for a patronal feast of a parish to be moved to a Sunday so
that it can be celebrated in a more robust way. We are doing that today in this
combined service, and I am so happy to see the nave so full. What a way to
celebrate St. Paul and this parish named for him that we love so much and are
blessed to be a part of!
After Jesus, Paul might just be the most well-known person in Scripture. Indeed, Paul claims more writings in the New Testament than any other author. We would be hard-pressed to find someone who had as much of an influence on the spread of our faith as Paul did. So, I thought it might be good- if you’ll indulge me- to mark this feast of our patron St. Paul by going through a top five of his most well-known words.
Our first stop on this top five list of comes from his second letter to the Church in Corinth. Paul writes that “we walk by faith, and not by sight.” I find this phrase an interesting one, for it was in Paul’s own conversion experience that he actually lost his eyesight. In today’s text from Acts, we hear Paul’s call story, but with a few details left out. In a more full account of the call story in the ninth chapter of Acts, we learn that Paul was without sight for the first three days after God stopped him in his tracks and called him to preach and teach the good news of Christ. Paul learned in all of his trials, on days when things did not make sense, on days when he could not see any further than to take just one step forward, Paul knew to see with his spiritual eyes, to trust in God’s grace and love to get him through. And we know that, too. On the dark days, in the dark nights of our souls when it may be hard to see or feel God’s presence, to see God with us and in us through the eyes of faith.
The second well-known verse I want us to look at is in the first letter to the Thessalonians, fifth chapter. “Give thanks in all circumstances, for it is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you.” And this wasn’t the only time Paul encouraged us to give thanks. Paul admonishes the early Church to give thanks, to live in a state of gratitude, more than 35 times. Paul knew the power of gratitude. Paul lived a hard life and was even imprisoned at times for preaching the Gospel, but he knew the power of offering thanks to break chains - literally break his own chains while imprisoned - and set him free from his circumstances. And we as St. Paul’s Church follow our patron’s call to gratitude by gathering here, week in and week out, to offer thanks to God as a community for God’s work in our midst, on the good days and the bad days. And that gratitude changes us. It makes us able to do God’s work in the world.
Our next stop on our journey through Pauline wisdom is in the fifth chapter of Romans. Paul says here that “Hope does not disappoint us, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us. If Paul had a firm grasp on gratitude, he had an even firmer grasp on hope. Paul mentions the word hope over fifty times. And hope was central to the message of Jesus, too. Though it’s not mentioned by word in today’s Gospel reading, the overall theme is indeed hope. Jesus is telling his disciples that accepting to follow him is sometimes going to be tough. He says he is sending them out like sheep into the midst of wolves. I love how Jesus does not mince words here. He cuts straight to the chase and says that this work is going to be hard. You will be judged, and perhaps even imprisoned. BUT. When you worry about what to say, what to do, don’t worry. Don’t fear. Your hope is in God, who will give you the words to say, give you the strength to carry on. Your hope is in God, and that can’t be taken away from you.
Our fourth stop on our journey is found in Paul’s letter to the Church in Galatia. Paul writes, “As many of you as were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ. There is no longer Jew or Greek; there is no longer slave or free; there is no longer male and female, for all of you are one in Christ Jesus.” In this well-known passage, Paul is pointing to perhaps the best news in the Good News of Jesus: that we are all one. In Christ, all division cease, walls that divide us are torn down. We participate in this reality every week in this space when we come to this altar, to receive from one bread and one cup. In that one bread, in that one cup, we are all made one in Christ Jesus. We don’t always get it right. We do fail. And that is precisely why we return week after week to be fed and reminded again and again that in Christ, we are all one.
Finally, in this list of Paul’s greatest writings, his greatest must be, without a doubt, his treatment of love. In his first letter to the Church in Corinth, he writes, “[Love] bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.” Love endures all things. At the end of the world, love is what will be left standing. In all our own trials, love is what will get us through. When we are confused and tired and don’t know which way is up, love will point the way. In grief and loss and hardship, love is there to comfort and bless. In the depths of the worst that life can give us, love whispers hope. Even in the grave, love gives us voice to make our song alleluia, alleluia, alleluia. At the end of the age, love wins.
Now, I know Paul can be controversial. Paul lived in a time and place very different from our own, and some of his writings reflect that. And we are also lucky to be named for this saint who wrote and taught about seeing through the eyes of faith, offering thanks to God in all things, clinging to hope, seeing all as our equal, and loving above all else.
A patronal feast can be a time for a parish to take stock of what has been in the last year and plan for what is to come. I encourage us to do that work today: to ground all we do in this new year in faith, gratitude, hope, equality, and love. Thanks be to God for the witness of St. Paul, and thanks be to God for all of you in this place. Amen.
After Jesus, Paul might just be the most well-known person in Scripture. Indeed, Paul claims more writings in the New Testament than any other author. We would be hard-pressed to find someone who had as much of an influence on the spread of our faith as Paul did. So, I thought it might be good- if you’ll indulge me- to mark this feast of our patron St. Paul by going through a top five of his most well-known words.
Our first stop on this top five list of comes from his second letter to the Church in Corinth. Paul writes that “we walk by faith, and not by sight.” I find this phrase an interesting one, for it was in Paul’s own conversion experience that he actually lost his eyesight. In today’s text from Acts, we hear Paul’s call story, but with a few details left out. In a more full account of the call story in the ninth chapter of Acts, we learn that Paul was without sight for the first three days after God stopped him in his tracks and called him to preach and teach the good news of Christ. Paul learned in all of his trials, on days when things did not make sense, on days when he could not see any further than to take just one step forward, Paul knew to see with his spiritual eyes, to trust in God’s grace and love to get him through. And we know that, too. On the dark days, in the dark nights of our souls when it may be hard to see or feel God’s presence, to see God with us and in us through the eyes of faith.
The second well-known verse I want us to look at is in the first letter to the Thessalonians, fifth chapter. “Give thanks in all circumstances, for it is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you.” And this wasn’t the only time Paul encouraged us to give thanks. Paul admonishes the early Church to give thanks, to live in a state of gratitude, more than 35 times. Paul knew the power of gratitude. Paul lived a hard life and was even imprisoned at times for preaching the Gospel, but he knew the power of offering thanks to break chains - literally break his own chains while imprisoned - and set him free from his circumstances. And we as St. Paul’s Church follow our patron’s call to gratitude by gathering here, week in and week out, to offer thanks to God as a community for God’s work in our midst, on the good days and the bad days. And that gratitude changes us. It makes us able to do God’s work in the world.
Our next stop on our journey through Pauline wisdom is in the fifth chapter of Romans. Paul says here that “Hope does not disappoint us, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us. If Paul had a firm grasp on gratitude, he had an even firmer grasp on hope. Paul mentions the word hope over fifty times. And hope was central to the message of Jesus, too. Though it’s not mentioned by word in today’s Gospel reading, the overall theme is indeed hope. Jesus is telling his disciples that accepting to follow him is sometimes going to be tough. He says he is sending them out like sheep into the midst of wolves. I love how Jesus does not mince words here. He cuts straight to the chase and says that this work is going to be hard. You will be judged, and perhaps even imprisoned. BUT. When you worry about what to say, what to do, don’t worry. Don’t fear. Your hope is in God, who will give you the words to say, give you the strength to carry on. Your hope is in God, and that can’t be taken away from you.
Our fourth stop on our journey is found in Paul’s letter to the Church in Galatia. Paul writes, “As many of you as were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ. There is no longer Jew or Greek; there is no longer slave or free; there is no longer male and female, for all of you are one in Christ Jesus.” In this well-known passage, Paul is pointing to perhaps the best news in the Good News of Jesus: that we are all one. In Christ, all division cease, walls that divide us are torn down. We participate in this reality every week in this space when we come to this altar, to receive from one bread and one cup. In that one bread, in that one cup, we are all made one in Christ Jesus. We don’t always get it right. We do fail. And that is precisely why we return week after week to be fed and reminded again and again that in Christ, we are all one.
Finally, in this list of Paul’s greatest writings, his greatest must be, without a doubt, his treatment of love. In his first letter to the Church in Corinth, he writes, “[Love] bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.” Love endures all things. At the end of the world, love is what will be left standing. In all our own trials, love is what will get us through. When we are confused and tired and don’t know which way is up, love will point the way. In grief and loss and hardship, love is there to comfort and bless. In the depths of the worst that life can give us, love whispers hope. Even in the grave, love gives us voice to make our song alleluia, alleluia, alleluia. At the end of the age, love wins.
Now, I know Paul can be controversial. Paul lived in a time and place very different from our own, and some of his writings reflect that. And we are also lucky to be named for this saint who wrote and taught about seeing through the eyes of faith, offering thanks to God in all things, clinging to hope, seeing all as our equal, and loving above all else.
A patronal feast can be a time for a parish to take stock of what has been in the last year and plan for what is to come. I encourage us to do that work today: to ground all we do in this new year in faith, gratitude, hope, equality, and love. Thanks be to God for the witness of St. Paul, and thanks be to God for all of you in this place. Amen.
Jan 14, 2024 |
New Meaning in Old Stories
| The Rev. Brandon AshcraftNew Meaning in Old Stories
One of the many things I love about The Episcopal Church is that its liturgies bring order to my chaotic life. The predictable pattern of prayer, scripture, and song creates a refuge where I find serenity in an otherwise tumultuous world. Whether it’s a service of the Holy Eucharist, or a service of Choral Evensong, our ancient liturgies are both comfortably familiar and always new. This is profoundly true when it comes to our lectionary. That is, the calendar that determines the passages of scripture we read at each service. In some Christian denominations, the pastor selects the readings for worship. But our common lectionary – rather than subjecting us to the whims of an individual pastor – binds us to other liturgical communities around the world, as we all read the same passages on the same day. The Sunday lectionary, the one that determined our readings for this morning, is structured in a three-year cycle: Year A, Year B and Year C. As we live through these cycles, over and over, the readings take on new meaning each time we hear them.
Today, for example, is the Second Sunday after the Epiphany in Year B. The last time we heard these readings was the Sunday I preached my first sermon at St. Paul’s. On that day, I stood at a lectern right over there and stared into a camera, as the pews sat empty. That day also came right on the heels of the insurrection at the U.S. Capitol. The concerns weighing on my heart that day. The concerns that colored my hearing of these scriptures then, were concerns of political unrest and violence, and the deadly ravages of COVID. Today, as I hear them, there are different concerns weighing on my heart. Today, my concerns are for the young people of our community, because of distressing events that transpired over the last week in local schools.
For starters, this past week was a volatile one for the community of Shaker Heights High School. A combination of events including intruders to the campus, physical confrontations, and a ‘stay-put’ order – all exacerbated by disinformation on social media – meant that by Friday, students were instructed to stay home as classes were conducted online. Meanwhile, at Cleveland Heights High School, the first day back from winter break began with grief counseling and mental health support. Because during the break, a 15-year-old sophomore tragically lost her life to the plague of gun violence. As one parent wrote to me on Friday, “What I’m thinking about most this morning is how [our society has] normalized [all this. Our kids] honestly aren’t surprised by any of it anymore and that breaks my heart.” Indeed, these events, all too common in the lives of our youth, are heartbreaking. They are sobering reminders that we must pray for the young people of St. Paul’s and their school communities. We must pray that their schools might be peaceful, safe havens of learning. And that we, the adults in their faith community, might be never-failing sources of encouragement and support for them.
With these concerns for our youth at the forefront of my mind, as I read today’s scriptures this time around, I found myself fixated on the young boy, Samuel, from our Old Testament passage. In this story, God calls the young Samuel’s name, repeatedly, night after night. But Samuel doesn’t realize the voice belongs to God because, as the passage tells us, “The word of the Lord was rare in those days.” And the reason the “word of the Lord was rare” is that corruption had become rampant in Israel. In other words, young Samuel had no reason to think God would speak to him because the adults who came before him had made such a mess of things, God had more-or-less stopped speaking!
The good news is that God doesn’t give up on Israel, despite their corruption. God does not abandon God’s people. Instead, God decides to do a new thing. God decides to start over and call a new prophet and priest to inaugurate a new era: this young boy, Samuel. But, in more good news, God doesn’t give up on the adults either. The old man Eli has a critical role to play in God’s plan. The elderly priest Eli, the one whose “eyesight had begun to grow dim,” enables young Samuel to recognize God’s voice. Without Eli Sameul would not have been able to answer God’s call. He could never have uttered those faithful words, “Speak, for your servant is listening.” As one observer notes, “It takes both the attentiveness of the young Samuel’s ears and the wisdom of the old priest’s heart and mind to birth this new office in the service of the Lord.”
My friends: this is a hopeful story of communal discernment. A story of what it looks like to listen for God’s voice in inter-generational community. And it is a story that affirms the young people in our midst as full participants in the life of our community. It reminds us that God speaks to them, just as God spoke to Samuel. That God calls them to important tasks. The reason we baptized five infants and toddlers last Sunday – the reason we initiate young people into the Body of Christ – is that we affirm their full humanity. We acknowledge that God is working in their lives from the moment of their birth in ways we cannot fully understand. They are not half citizens, but full citizens of the community of the New Covenant.
On this Second Sunday after the Epiphany, Year B, perhaps God is calling us, through Samuel’s story, to renew our commitment to the young people of our community. To renew our commitment to loving them, supporting them, and nurturing them amid a world that is volatile, unpredictable, and often scary. God calls our young people to participate in his work of redemption. And from time to time, they’ll need our help to recognize God’s voice. It is indeed good news that God did not give up on Israel. God did a new thing, through the ministry of a young boy. Just as he did when he sent us his Son, Jesus Christ. The One who meets us week after week in the stories of Holy Scripture. Stories that bring order to the chaos of our lives. Amen.
Jan 07, 2024 |
Sunday Sermon
|Sunday Sermon
The people along the sand
All turn and look one way.
They turn their back on the land.
They look at the sea all day.
The land may vary more;
But wherever the truth may be--
The water comes ashore,
And the people look at the sea.
What is it about water? This poem by Robert Frost (Neither Out Far Nor In Deep) rings so true. There is something mesmerizing about water. How many of us have sat on a shore and gazed out on a lake, or ocean, or sea? Water is calming in the repetition of the tide; it is captivating during a storm; it imbues peace in its glassy stillness. Perhaps we are drawn in by the depths because water is so integral to life and points us to the vastness beyond our selves. Our gaze taps into our desire to be one with our Creator. “In him we live and move and have our being” (Acts 17:28).
Today, we are baptizing five young people: at 9, Poppy Garg, Rosemary Garg, Danica Mersek and Miles Mersek; at 11:15, Walker Mead. We are welcoming them into the body of Christ, into the community of Christ. We baptize with water. In the time of John the Baptist, washing with water was performed ritually as an outward sign of cleansing the inward self. John the Baptist pathed the way to a more profound baptism when he proclaimed the coming of Jesus Christ: “The one who is more powerful than I is coming after me. I have baptized you with water; but he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit.” After Jesus’ death and resurrection, Christians adopted Baptism as a way of incorporating new Christians into the Church. Holy Baptism is full initiation by water and the Holy Spirit into Christ’s body, the Church.
The film Water, is part of a trilogy of films, Fire, Earth, and Water, by acclaimed screenwriter and director, Deepa Mehta. Water is set in India in the 1930s. The film is based on a custom, drawn from a patriarchal reading of the Hindu Gospel, of separating women from their families upon the death of their husbands. Water is the story of Chuyia, a seven-year-old girl whose husband dies – yes, a seven-year-old girl - and she is sent to live out her life in poverty among strangers in a widow’s colony. This film, at times challenging to watch, is an achingly beautiful love story.
But, at its heart, it is a story about water, and worth a watch to resonate with the power of this theological reality. The widow’s colony is located on the river, Ganga. The river is central to the lives of the widows’ and to the lives of the people in the surrounding village. The film opens with a person who is frail being helped to drink water. We see people bathing in the water and being refreshed by the water. We see the water being used to grow food and vegetation, for cooking and for cleaning clothes. We see the water being used for transportation and for recreation. And, we see the other side of water. We see rain pouring down during a storm, a source of death and destruction. We see bodies being prepared for Hindu burial in the water. In this film, a life is saved. The weaving of the plot, of love and death and new life, with the images of water impresses upon us the great power that water holds over our lives; impresses upon us the theological significance of death into life through water.
Today, our brief passage from Genesis gives us just enough of the Creation story to enlighten the Gospel message. “In the beginning, the earth was a formless void. God said, ‘Let there be light.’ God separated the light from the darkness. God called the light Day, and the darkness he called Night.” God took the formless void and brought order out of chaos. We have Night and we have Day. Just as God delivered the cosmos from chaos, God delivered the Israelites from the wilderness. They had wandered for forty years. But, after Moses death, God directed Joshua to lead them into the Promised Land. From chaos to order, from anguish to hope, from death to life, the Israelites left the wilderness and entered the Promised Land. And, how did they cross over? Through water, through the River Jordan. A millennium or two later, Jesus made a point. “In those days Jesus came from Nazareth of Galilee and was baptized by John in the Jordan.” Through Baptism, with water, a compound so integral to life and death, we die to ourselves and rise to new life in Christ.
Let’s not forget the Holy Spirit! “Just as Jesus was coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit descending like a dove on him. And a voice came from heaven, ‘You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.” After Baptism in water, we seal with Chrism - scented oil previously consecrated by the Diocesan Bishop - we seal by making the sign of the cross on the child’s forehead. Anointing is the promise of the Holy Spirit, who nurtures and inspires our lives. This promise is no small matter. We are being empowered to accomplish the work of Christ, to love our neighbor as ourselves. We are being empowered to transform the world one day at a time, one interaction at a time, respecting the dignity of every human being. In the Gospel of John (16:13), Jesus says, “When the Spirit of truth comes, he will guide you into all the truth.” In Acts 1 (vs. 8), Jesus tells the apostles, “You will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you; and you will be my witnesses … to the ends of the earth.” In 1 Corinthians 12 (vs. 7), Paul tells us, “To each is given the manifestation of the Spirit for the common good.” For the common good. Through Baptism, dying to selfish ways and rising to new life, we are brought into union with Christ, with each other and with the Church of every time and place. Recognizing our faith as a life-long journey, we enter into a bond of unity to love one another, to overcome all divisions, offering different gifts, skills and perspectives for the common good. Today, we reaffirm our baptismal vows acknowledging with joy and gratitude that we belong to God, that Jesus lived among us so that we would know God in our lives, and that Jesus showed us how to live with one another in God’s love. What is it about water? Belonging…possibility…new life….
The water comes ashore,
And the people look at the sea.
Dec 31, 2023 |
In the Beginning Was the Word
| The Rev. Gabriel LawrenceIn the Beginning Was the Word
In
the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. Word.
Speech. It’s the way we know each other- the way I know you, and you know me:
by the words that we use to speak, to describe things and places and thoughts.
The Word, that way we know God (God’s things, and places, and thoughts): The
Word was with God. Hidden from us- God, Source of all being- we did not yet
know.
He was in the beginning with God. And has been with God since the very beginning, since before time and space, since before things and places and thoughts. Before all things came to be, before the first tick of a clock, before the first sunrise, before the first day or month or year, God was, and the Word was, right there with God. In the dark void, the Source of Life was.
All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. And the Source of life, breathed over the dark void, and out of the darkness was born life and breath; sun, moon, and stars; sunrises and sunsets; and days and months and years. Time itself was born from the Source of Life, from divine creation.
What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. And for the first time, the Source of Life had breath and form, lungs and eyes, leaves and roots, gills and scales, skin and hair. This life that burst forth was full of so much power and came from a Source so far beyond our knowing. It was light and love. And light and love literally lit up the sky and lit up all things that God had made.
The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it. The dark void does not get the last word. Light speaks to our fear of the dark, the unknown- that primal fear we first got to know as a child. It is touched by the warm light of God and is met by the Word who looks into the eye of the dark storm and speaks the words: “Peace be still. Do not be afraid.”
There was a man sent from God, whose name was John. God did not send a king or a governor or a high priest. God sent an average man named John, a man who had grasped the life changing love of God and wanted to share that love with all those who came to him. This man named John pointed to the Word as someone greater than himself, pointed to the Lamb that would take away the sins of the world.
He came as a witness to testify to the light, so that all might believe through him. John knew he wasn’t the Light. But he had been called by God to point the world to the light, to the Word- the Word who came from God and was God. He did this so that all might experience the power of love to turn a heart of stone into a heart of flesh, to raise up what had been cast down, to make new that which had grown old.
He himself was not the light, but he came to testify to the Light. And here is perhaps the best news of Christmas: We are not the Light. We are made of the Light, but we don’t have to be the Light. We don’t have to be the Source. Only God is that. We participate in the light, and we point others, like John did, to the light. We sometimes fail, and God’s love and light is not overcome by our failures. Our work is simply to show the Light to the world.
The true light, which enlightens everyone, was coming into the world. Was coming. Not came. Not comes. But was coming. Movement. Motion. God was on the move. God’s love was breaking through all the walls and defenses and barriers and self-doubt we put up to keep God’s love from changing us, transforming us. God’s love does not rest. It pursues, it heals. It comes to us week after week in bread and wine, and it comes to us in this season in the heartbeat of the Christ-child.
He was in the world, and the world came into being through him; yet the world did not know him. He came to what was his own, and his own people did not accept him. And how could we? The hymn says our hearts were tuned toward strife and so we refused Love’s overture. In Christ, God invited us into the holy dance of love. And yet, we were terrified of love so pure, love so sweet. We were made for love and by love, and yet we refused to dance.
But to all who received him, who believed in his name, he gave power to become children of God. But! This word but, this is the Word. In Christ, God says, “But wait! There’s more!” In Christmas, our hearts can be tuned to sing God’s grace. If we sit in the darkness, in the silence, God in the Christ-child comes to us, bends down, and whispers in our ears: You are my child. You are loved forever and ever.
And the Word became flesh and lived among us. God’s speech, the way we know God, became words spoken by THE Word. In Christ, God took on flesh and skin and hair and teeth and feet and hands. And with all of that flesh, healed the world. The Word lived with us. An old source says God leapt from his throne to become one of us. God ran to us. God ran to be one of us. God lived among us, and God still lives among us.
And we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father's only son. Having seen God in the Christ-child and tasted God in bread and wine, and heard God in the chirp of a bird, and smelled God in the aroma of a meal shared with friends, and touched God in the soft fur of a pet or the embrace of a loved one, we know God. In all that we do, God is with us. Emmanuel.
Full of grace and truth. In Christ, God has filled the world. God filled all things. In the gaps where we fall short, God’s grace makes up the difference. In places of darkness, God’s truth speaks light. God’s very Word is grace and truth. God’s Word, God’s speech- how we know God’s things and places and thoughts- God’s Word is found in grace and truth. Joy to the world, the Lord has come, full of grace and truth.
He was in the beginning with God. And has been with God since the very beginning, since before time and space, since before things and places and thoughts. Before all things came to be, before the first tick of a clock, before the first sunrise, before the first day or month or year, God was, and the Word was, right there with God. In the dark void, the Source of Life was.
All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. And the Source of life, breathed over the dark void, and out of the darkness was born life and breath; sun, moon, and stars; sunrises and sunsets; and days and months and years. Time itself was born from the Source of Life, from divine creation.
What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. And for the first time, the Source of Life had breath and form, lungs and eyes, leaves and roots, gills and scales, skin and hair. This life that burst forth was full of so much power and came from a Source so far beyond our knowing. It was light and love. And light and love literally lit up the sky and lit up all things that God had made.
The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it. The dark void does not get the last word. Light speaks to our fear of the dark, the unknown- that primal fear we first got to know as a child. It is touched by the warm light of God and is met by the Word who looks into the eye of the dark storm and speaks the words: “Peace be still. Do not be afraid.”
There was a man sent from God, whose name was John. God did not send a king or a governor or a high priest. God sent an average man named John, a man who had grasped the life changing love of God and wanted to share that love with all those who came to him. This man named John pointed to the Word as someone greater than himself, pointed to the Lamb that would take away the sins of the world.
He came as a witness to testify to the light, so that all might believe through him. John knew he wasn’t the Light. But he had been called by God to point the world to the light, to the Word- the Word who came from God and was God. He did this so that all might experience the power of love to turn a heart of stone into a heart of flesh, to raise up what had been cast down, to make new that which had grown old.
He himself was not the light, but he came to testify to the Light. And here is perhaps the best news of Christmas: We are not the Light. We are made of the Light, but we don’t have to be the Light. We don’t have to be the Source. Only God is that. We participate in the light, and we point others, like John did, to the light. We sometimes fail, and God’s love and light is not overcome by our failures. Our work is simply to show the Light to the world.
The true light, which enlightens everyone, was coming into the world. Was coming. Not came. Not comes. But was coming. Movement. Motion. God was on the move. God’s love was breaking through all the walls and defenses and barriers and self-doubt we put up to keep God’s love from changing us, transforming us. God’s love does not rest. It pursues, it heals. It comes to us week after week in bread and wine, and it comes to us in this season in the heartbeat of the Christ-child.
He was in the world, and the world came into being through him; yet the world did not know him. He came to what was his own, and his own people did not accept him. And how could we? The hymn says our hearts were tuned toward strife and so we refused Love’s overture. In Christ, God invited us into the holy dance of love. And yet, we were terrified of love so pure, love so sweet. We were made for love and by love, and yet we refused to dance.
But to all who received him, who believed in his name, he gave power to become children of God. But! This word but, this is the Word. In Christ, God says, “But wait! There’s more!” In Christmas, our hearts can be tuned to sing God’s grace. If we sit in the darkness, in the silence, God in the Christ-child comes to us, bends down, and whispers in our ears: You are my child. You are loved forever and ever.
And the Word became flesh and lived among us. God’s speech, the way we know God, became words spoken by THE Word. In Christ, God took on flesh and skin and hair and teeth and feet and hands. And with all of that flesh, healed the world. The Word lived with us. An old source says God leapt from his throne to become one of us. God ran to us. God ran to be one of us. God lived among us, and God still lives among us.
And we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father's only son. Having seen God in the Christ-child and tasted God in bread and wine, and heard God in the chirp of a bird, and smelled God in the aroma of a meal shared with friends, and touched God in the soft fur of a pet or the embrace of a loved one, we know God. In all that we do, God is with us. Emmanuel.
Full of grace and truth. In Christ, God has filled the world. God filled all things. In the gaps where we fall short, God’s grace makes up the difference. In places of darkness, God’s truth speaks light. God’s very Word is grace and truth. God’s Word, God’s speech- how we know God’s things and places and thoughts- God’s Word is found in grace and truth. Joy to the world, the Lord has come, full of grace and truth.
Dec 24, 2023 |
Christmas Sermon
|Christmas Sermon
Our National Parks are magnificent. Two of my favorites are
Arches and Bryce Canyon, both in Utah. The stone formations in Arches National
Park are 65 million years in the making. The longest arch has an opening of 300
feet; the tallest arch has an opening of over 100 feet. As you hike up to these
immense stone formations, the views through the arches are stunning. Once you
arrive and walk through the arch, you feel somehow absorbed into the limitless
sky. Bryce Canyon is a whole different geological wonder. The elevation is over
8,000 feet. The stone formations in this park remind me of sandcastles. When I
was young, we often went to the beach for vacation. My sisters and I would go
down to the water’s edge, fill our pails with water and then scoop in some
sand. Perhaps you recall doing the same. You reach into the bucket, pull out a glob
of wet sand, and then let it drip-down onto the dry sand, building up a cone
shape. That’s where my mind goes with these spectacular stone structures in
Bryce Canyon. They are sandcastles in blazing color: orangey-red spires soaring
into the sky.
Many of us feel a connection to the divine in nature. The most powerful experience I have had, beyond the beauty of Arches and Bryce Canyon, was in the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone River in Yellowstone National Park in Wyoming. The moment I walked up to the rim of the Canyon overlooking the waterfalls, I was overwhelmed by the expansive beauty. At that moment, there were no words, only awe for the existence and wonder of our Creator; a moment when we are keenly aware that the world is just so much bigger than our individual selves. The majesty of the Divine in nature is powerful. The intimacy of the Divine in our heartache is lifesaving. Jesus is our Savior.
Madeline L’Engle, the beloved author, writes in her poem First Coming :
Jesus was born into an oppressive society. King Herod the Great was in power, appointed by Rome to rule Judea, Samaria and Galilee as a police state. He was a murderer: ruthless and vindictive. In addition, he imposed burdensome taxes on the people, largely boosting the wealth of the rulers. Herod’s brutality was a shroud over Jerusalem at the time of Jesus’ birth. Jesus entered-into our brokenness.
Some of our most intimate experiences with the Divine are in difficult times. I know this is true for me. Certainly, I experienced some uncertainty and anxiety as I made a turn from a consulting career to parish ministry. Before I even realized I was discerning a change, I had a prescient dream directing me down this new path. In the dream, I was in a storm and trapped in a town where all the streets were flooded; there was no way out. Yet, I had this sense of urgency that I needed to find a way out as soon as possible. For three days, I frantically searched, but all the streets were impassable. Then, on the third day, seemingly suddenly, I found a way out, one clear road that would take me out of town, though all the other streets were still flooded. This one way out was now so obvious – I couldn’t believe that I hadn’t seen it before. Dreams are an avenue of inspiration from God. Once I made the “aha” connection, Jesus’ presence during this career transition was comforting.
Jesus is with us through uncertainty and anxiety, and Jesus is with us through loss. I cried through the months leading up to my divorce and through the months following, and Jesus’ compassion gave me the courage to look to a new day. Jesus is with us through grief. One year ago, I lost a dear friend to cancer. My last visit with her one week before her death was both beautiful and heart-rending. That night, I woke up at 3:30 in the morning and I was filled with God’s presence and somehow, my friend was there with us. I experienced perfect Love, perfect Peace. Jesus was born into an oppressive society, into heartache. He came into our brokenness and lived fully in his humanness. He gets us; he lived our emotions. He continues to enter-into our brokenness, with empathy for the human condition. What is your sadness? With compassion and unceasing love, Jesus enters-into our heartache. He journeys with us through the healing process; he comforts and gives us the courage to see a new day.
On the night of Jesus’ birth, an angel of the Lord appeared to the shepherds in the fields keeping watch over their flock. “The angel said to them, ‘Do not be afraid; for see—I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people.’” Good news…of great joy…our Savior has come. Jesus shepherds us through all of life, helping us to endure and thrive. So, we give thanks, by loving as we are loved. Through our healing, we are able to care for and enrich the lives of others. Creation is inherently revealing God through the grandeur of nature and the intimacy of relationships. We are forever companioned, forever loved…with God’s grace, forever loving. And, so, we come before the Christ child, in wonder of the Divine Love, and we sing out, “Joy to the world! The Lord is come.” In her poem First Coming, Madeleine L’Engle concludes:
Many of us feel a connection to the divine in nature. The most powerful experience I have had, beyond the beauty of Arches and Bryce Canyon, was in the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone River in Yellowstone National Park in Wyoming. The moment I walked up to the rim of the Canyon overlooking the waterfalls, I was overwhelmed by the expansive beauty. At that moment, there were no words, only awe for the existence and wonder of our Creator; a moment when we are keenly aware that the world is just so much bigger than our individual selves. The majesty of the Divine in nature is powerful. The intimacy of the Divine in our heartache is lifesaving. Jesus is our Savior.
Madeline L’Engle, the beloved author, writes in her poem First Coming :
“He did not wait till the world was ready, till men and nations were at peace.
He came when the Heavens were unsteady, and prisoners cried out for release.
He did not wait for the perfect time. He came when the need was deep and great.
He dined with sinners in all their grime, turned water into wine.
He did not wait till hearts were pure. In joy he came to a tarnished world of sin and doubt.
To a world like ours, of anguished shame he came, and his Light would not go out.”
Jesus was born into an oppressive society. King Herod the Great was in power, appointed by Rome to rule Judea, Samaria and Galilee as a police state. He was a murderer: ruthless and vindictive. In addition, he imposed burdensome taxes on the people, largely boosting the wealth of the rulers. Herod’s brutality was a shroud over Jerusalem at the time of Jesus’ birth. Jesus entered-into our brokenness.
Some of our most intimate experiences with the Divine are in difficult times. I know this is true for me. Certainly, I experienced some uncertainty and anxiety as I made a turn from a consulting career to parish ministry. Before I even realized I was discerning a change, I had a prescient dream directing me down this new path. In the dream, I was in a storm and trapped in a town where all the streets were flooded; there was no way out. Yet, I had this sense of urgency that I needed to find a way out as soon as possible. For three days, I frantically searched, but all the streets were impassable. Then, on the third day, seemingly suddenly, I found a way out, one clear road that would take me out of town, though all the other streets were still flooded. This one way out was now so obvious – I couldn’t believe that I hadn’t seen it before. Dreams are an avenue of inspiration from God. Once I made the “aha” connection, Jesus’ presence during this career transition was comforting.
Jesus is with us through uncertainty and anxiety, and Jesus is with us through loss. I cried through the months leading up to my divorce and through the months following, and Jesus’ compassion gave me the courage to look to a new day. Jesus is with us through grief. One year ago, I lost a dear friend to cancer. My last visit with her one week before her death was both beautiful and heart-rending. That night, I woke up at 3:30 in the morning and I was filled with God’s presence and somehow, my friend was there with us. I experienced perfect Love, perfect Peace. Jesus was born into an oppressive society, into heartache. He came into our brokenness and lived fully in his humanness. He gets us; he lived our emotions. He continues to enter-into our brokenness, with empathy for the human condition. What is your sadness? With compassion and unceasing love, Jesus enters-into our heartache. He journeys with us through the healing process; he comforts and gives us the courage to see a new day.
On the night of Jesus’ birth, an angel of the Lord appeared to the shepherds in the fields keeping watch over their flock. “The angel said to them, ‘Do not be afraid; for see—I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people.’” Good news…of great joy…our Savior has come. Jesus shepherds us through all of life, helping us to endure and thrive. So, we give thanks, by loving as we are loved. Through our healing, we are able to care for and enrich the lives of others. Creation is inherently revealing God through the grandeur of nature and the intimacy of relationships. We are forever companioned, forever loved…with God’s grace, forever loving. And, so, we come before the Christ child, in wonder of the Divine Love, and we sing out, “Joy to the world! The Lord is come.” In her poem First Coming, Madeleine L’Engle concludes:
“We cannot wait till the world is sane to raise our songs with joyful voice,
For to share our grief, to touch our pain, He came with Love: Rejoice! Rejoice!”
Dec 24, 2023 |
On the Edge of Advent with Mary
| The Rev. Brandon AshcraftOn the Edge of Advent with Mary
Good morning, my faithful Advent companions! This morning, we find ourselves gathered in a “liminal space.” From the Latin word for “threshold,” the concept of a “liminal space” comes to us from the well of Celtic spirituality. “Liminal spaces” exist on borders between what was and what will be. They are spaces of transition and transformation. The Catholic mystic Richard Rohr claims that all spiritual transformation occurs in liminal spaces, and that the very purpose of religion is to draw us into these sacred spaces “where the old world is able to fall apart, and a bigger world is revealed.” So what makes this particular space a liminal one?
For starters, we are still – for a few more hours at least – in the season of Advent, and Advent is a liminal season. It locates us on a threshold between two ages: the age of Christ’s first coming in the manager at Bethlehem, and the age of his future coming in great glory. Based on your presence here this morning, you are truly committed Advent people! And you have arrived at a uniquely liminal place within this liminal season. A place we only encounter every seven years or so, when the Fourth Sunday of Advent and Christmas Eve collide on the same day. The liminality of this moment is apparent when we consider our surroundings. Looking around, we discover that we are on the edge of Advent, because we can see, quite literally, the arrival of Christmas in the distance [gestures to the Nave that is elaborately decorated for the Christmas services later in the day]. And yet, in here, in this chapel, our “Kyrie eleisons” has not yet given way to “Gloria in execelsis”; the vestments are still purple, not white; and the Christ candle of the Advent wreath remains unlit. Our feet are firmly planted in Advent, but our eyes can behold Christmas in the distance. It does not get more liminal than this.
And every year, on this fourth and final Sunday of Advent, we meet the Blessed Virgin Mary. The vessel of the Incarnation. In whose womb humanity and divinity will meet for sake of the world’s redemption. No one denies that Mary is a central figure in the biblical narrative, but she is also a subject of some controversy. Christians of different traditions hold wide-ranging views about Mary’s importance and make conflicting theological claims about her. When the angel Gabriel greets Mary as “favored one,” does that mean, according to Roman Catholic doctrine, that she is an extraordinary human who is without sin? Or, as most Protestants suggest, is she an ordinary, sinful human being whose role in God’s drama of salvation reminds us that we, too, have important roles to play in God’s mission? As Anglicans, I invite us to be true to our identity as people of the “middle way” in our contemplation of Mary this morning. To put aside questions of dogma, or questions about the historicity of the Virgin birth, in favor of living in the grey. In favor of embracing the mystery. I invite us to assume a posture of awe and wonder at this incredible story we just heard.
Today, our gospel recounts the Annunciation: the event that informs Mary that she – of all the women in the world and across the ages – is the one on whom God has bestowed the singular vocation of giving birth to the Savior of the world. This incredible story has captivated imaginations across the centuries: memorialized in paintings, frescoes, stained glass windows, and mosaics in museums, cathedrals, and parish churches around the world. Although the story is brief, its characterization of Mary is rich and complex. In 12 verses of scripture, Mary is described as favored, perplexed, thoughtful and afraid. She begins in a posture of confusion and reticence, but by the end, she humbly submits herself to God’s call.
In his telling of this story, the evangelist Luke paints a rich and detailed scene, but he also leaves much to our imagination. We are left to wonder: what was Mary doing when the angel Gabriel arrived? Was she reading and meditating on scripture, as some artistic renderings would have us believe? Or was she engaged in some mundane, domestic chore? Did Mary heed the angel’s salutation to “not be afraid”? Did she come near to Gabriel, as if they were two old friends sharing a secret? Or did she prostrate herself at a distance in fear-gripped submission? When Mary inquired of Gabriel, “How can this be, since I am a virgin?” was her tone one of genuine curiosity, or indignant protest? Our capacity to imagine this story in different ways becomes evident when we survey artistic renderings of this scene, several of which I have included in your bulletins.
I wonder what moment in this story most captures your imagination? For me, it is one particular liminal moment. That precise moment after Gabriel reveals the full extent of God’s plans for Mary. I am fixated on the moment between Gabriel’s answer to Mary’s question, and Mary’s response: “Let it be with me according to your word.” Before she utters those faith-filled words, I imagine a pregnant silence, while she contemplates the magnitude of what has been asked of her. And in that silence, I imagine that all of creation, across time and space, is holding its breath, as it waits for Mary’s answer. Was there ever a moment when more was at stake? After all, the world’s redemption hinges on Mary’s answer. The God of all creation, the God who put the stars in the sky and breathed life in the dust to create mankind – that same God chose this singular moment 2,000 years ago and this singular young woman in a backwater Galilean town for this pivotal role in his plan of salvation. And it was Mary’s singular response that forever altered the course of human history.
The medieval monk and mystic, St. Bernard of Clairvaux, describes this moment in a beautiful homily entitled “The whole world waits for Mary’s answer.” I invite you to listen to his description of this poignant moment. To the Virgin Mary, St. Bernard says:
The price of our salvation is offered to you. We shall be set free at once if you consent. In the eternal Word of God we all came to be, and behold, we die [in our sin]. In your brief response we are to be remade in order to be recalled to life. Tearful Adam with his sorrowing family begs this of you, O loving Virgin, in their exile from Paradise. Abraham begs it, David begs it. All the other holy patriarchs, your ancestors, ask it of you, as they dwell in the country of the shadow of death. This is what the whole earth waits for, prostrate at your feet.
I wonder…when will your moment come to answer God’s invitation? To become a participant in God’s divine plan? In this liminal moment on the edge of Advent, with the feast of our Lord’s Nativity on the horizon, I invite you to linger for a moment with this story. To behold with wonder that God’s plan for salvation hinged on the cooperation of a lowly peasant girl in Galilee. Mary’s “yes” gave birth to the world’s redemption. What new thing might God birth through us, if we but have the willingness to say, with Mary, “Let it be with me according to your will.”
For starters, we are still – for a few more hours at least – in the season of Advent, and Advent is a liminal season. It locates us on a threshold between two ages: the age of Christ’s first coming in the manager at Bethlehem, and the age of his future coming in great glory. Based on your presence here this morning, you are truly committed Advent people! And you have arrived at a uniquely liminal place within this liminal season. A place we only encounter every seven years or so, when the Fourth Sunday of Advent and Christmas Eve collide on the same day. The liminality of this moment is apparent when we consider our surroundings. Looking around, we discover that we are on the edge of Advent, because we can see, quite literally, the arrival of Christmas in the distance [gestures to the Nave that is elaborately decorated for the Christmas services later in the day]. And yet, in here, in this chapel, our “Kyrie eleisons” has not yet given way to “Gloria in execelsis”; the vestments are still purple, not white; and the Christ candle of the Advent wreath remains unlit. Our feet are firmly planted in Advent, but our eyes can behold Christmas in the distance. It does not get more liminal than this.
And every year, on this fourth and final Sunday of Advent, we meet the Blessed Virgin Mary. The vessel of the Incarnation. In whose womb humanity and divinity will meet for sake of the world’s redemption. No one denies that Mary is a central figure in the biblical narrative, but she is also a subject of some controversy. Christians of different traditions hold wide-ranging views about Mary’s importance and make conflicting theological claims about her. When the angel Gabriel greets Mary as “favored one,” does that mean, according to Roman Catholic doctrine, that she is an extraordinary human who is without sin? Or, as most Protestants suggest, is she an ordinary, sinful human being whose role in God’s drama of salvation reminds us that we, too, have important roles to play in God’s mission? As Anglicans, I invite us to be true to our identity as people of the “middle way” in our contemplation of Mary this morning. To put aside questions of dogma, or questions about the historicity of the Virgin birth, in favor of living in the grey. In favor of embracing the mystery. I invite us to assume a posture of awe and wonder at this incredible story we just heard.
Today, our gospel recounts the Annunciation: the event that informs Mary that she – of all the women in the world and across the ages – is the one on whom God has bestowed the singular vocation of giving birth to the Savior of the world. This incredible story has captivated imaginations across the centuries: memorialized in paintings, frescoes, stained glass windows, and mosaics in museums, cathedrals, and parish churches around the world. Although the story is brief, its characterization of Mary is rich and complex. In 12 verses of scripture, Mary is described as favored, perplexed, thoughtful and afraid. She begins in a posture of confusion and reticence, but by the end, she humbly submits herself to God’s call.
In his telling of this story, the evangelist Luke paints a rich and detailed scene, but he also leaves much to our imagination. We are left to wonder: what was Mary doing when the angel Gabriel arrived? Was she reading and meditating on scripture, as some artistic renderings would have us believe? Or was she engaged in some mundane, domestic chore? Did Mary heed the angel’s salutation to “not be afraid”? Did she come near to Gabriel, as if they were two old friends sharing a secret? Or did she prostrate herself at a distance in fear-gripped submission? When Mary inquired of Gabriel, “How can this be, since I am a virgin?” was her tone one of genuine curiosity, or indignant protest? Our capacity to imagine this story in different ways becomes evident when we survey artistic renderings of this scene, several of which I have included in your bulletins.
I wonder what moment in this story most captures your imagination? For me, it is one particular liminal moment. That precise moment after Gabriel reveals the full extent of God’s plans for Mary. I am fixated on the moment between Gabriel’s answer to Mary’s question, and Mary’s response: “Let it be with me according to your word.” Before she utters those faith-filled words, I imagine a pregnant silence, while she contemplates the magnitude of what has been asked of her. And in that silence, I imagine that all of creation, across time and space, is holding its breath, as it waits for Mary’s answer. Was there ever a moment when more was at stake? After all, the world’s redemption hinges on Mary’s answer. The God of all creation, the God who put the stars in the sky and breathed life in the dust to create mankind – that same God chose this singular moment 2,000 years ago and this singular young woman in a backwater Galilean town for this pivotal role in his plan of salvation. And it was Mary’s singular response that forever altered the course of human history.
The medieval monk and mystic, St. Bernard of Clairvaux, describes this moment in a beautiful homily entitled “The whole world waits for Mary’s answer.” I invite you to listen to his description of this poignant moment. To the Virgin Mary, St. Bernard says:
The price of our salvation is offered to you. We shall be set free at once if you consent. In the eternal Word of God we all came to be, and behold, we die [in our sin]. In your brief response we are to be remade in order to be recalled to life. Tearful Adam with his sorrowing family begs this of you, O loving Virgin, in their exile from Paradise. Abraham begs it, David begs it. All the other holy patriarchs, your ancestors, ask it of you, as they dwell in the country of the shadow of death. This is what the whole earth waits for, prostrate at your feet.
I wonder…when will your moment come to answer God’s invitation? To become a participant in God’s divine plan? In this liminal moment on the edge of Advent, with the feast of our Lord’s Nativity on the horizon, I invite you to linger for a moment with this story. To behold with wonder that God’s plan for salvation hinged on the cooperation of a lowly peasant girl in Galilee. Mary’s “yes” gave birth to the world’s redemption. What new thing might God birth through us, if we but have the willingness to say, with Mary, “Let it be with me according to your will.”
Dec 17, 2023 |
Who Are You?
| The Rev. Gabriel LawrenceWho Are You?
“Who are you?” This question that the crowd asks of John the
Baptist in today’s gospel is one that I have asked myself many, many times over
in the last ten or so years as I have discerned a call to ordained ministry. It’s
a question that on some days I have been able to answer with certainty, and
other days the answer has not come with such confidence. You see, I have lived
most of my life with a stutter. I still have it. I’ve done a lot of work on it,
and some days my speech is more fluent while other days my stutter is more
pronounced. There’s more to the story, but just know for now, my stutter has
been a cause for pause. In answering the call to serve God and the Church as a
priest where speaking occupies such a central part, I have tried to answer the
question “Who are you?” with every other option. “God, I can’t possibly do this
work. Let me do anything else!” But when God calls us to something, God pursues
us. And no matter how many times I have answered the question “Who are you?”
with a shaky voice as I have discerned this calling, God has always answered
the question with confidence. “I have called you, and you are mine.”
This idea that God calls people to service who we might least expect is common. While we don’t know any of John the Baptist’s call story, I do wonder how John may have responded the first time God called him. “John, I am calling you to baptize and call people to repentance. This work will prepare the way for my son who will come into the world, a person who is greater than you.” I imagine John may have told God “No!” a few times himself, or said “Please let me do anything else!” After all, John had his life planned out. He would spend his days eating locust and honey and sew his own clothes made from camel hair. These days, we might call John “crunchy”. He’d probably be wearing socks with his Birkenstocks. I wonder how John might have wrestled with God when God called him to wilderness work.
Whether or not, we know how John initially answered God’s call to baptize and preach repentance, we know that John did answer the call. And we hear in the gospel this morning, not John questioning his own call, but the crowd. They ask him “Who are you?’’ And the real questions behind the question is “Where are your credentials?” “What gives you the right to baptize and teach and preach repentance?” “Are you the prophet?” “Are you Elijah?” You see, the priests and Levites sent to question John did not expect someone like him to be performing rites of purification and teaching. These were jobs left usually to Temple professionals like themselves. John’s type was the last kind of person they expected to be doing the holy and important work of God.
And John answers them, “I am not the prophet. I baptize with water, but the one coming after me, (who John already knew to be the Christ), is someone you won’t recognize either. If we go back a few verses in John from the ones we heard in our Gospel today, we read “He was in the world, and the world came into being through him, yet the world did not know him. He came to what was his own,and his own people did not accept him.” God sent God’s son into the world, and the world did not know him. The world did not recognize God made known to us in the person of Jesus. In the person of Jesus, God did something new. God is always doing something new. God is always challenging our perceptions. God is always asking us to find God’s self in places we don’t expect.
And God is always stirring. The collect for today, the Third Sunday of Advent, begins “Stir up your power, O Lord, and with great might come among us.” And I can’t think of a text that embodies this stirring up more than the Song of Mary. She says that God has shown God’s strength, but not how we might expect. He has scattered the proud in their conceit and honored those who are humble. He has cast down the mighty from their thrones of power and saved and given special place to those who are usually left out. He has sent the rich away empty and given the resources of the rich to those in need. In all of this, God has flipped the world as we know it upside down. And God did this in the person of Jesus, who John the Baptist points to as the one who will come after him.
Part of our work in this season of Advent is to prepare our hearts to be stirred by God’s power so that we may receive Christ when he comes- so that we don’t miss Christ at Christmas when we might be looking for someone or something else. So, where do we find God? We look to the places that make us wince. The places that stand out. The places that are different. Next week, we will find God on a cold, silent night in a trough made to feed barn animals, wrapped in strips of spare fabric. We will find God in Christ not in strength, but in the weak, helplessness of a newborn child. God will come to us in our beautiful church, yes, but also in a barn, bugs flying around, mice nesting in the corner. We will find God tended to not by hired help, but by shepherds- field hands who have heard the call of God to come and find God’s self in a place they least expected. God’s love drew them to that place on that holy night, and God’s love still draws us go to places where we might at first say no.
As we prepare for Christmas, are we open to finding Jesus in a stinky, bug-infested barn? Are we prepared to answer God’s call to us even if we feel unprepared? Are we prepared to allow God’s spirit to call us and equip us for the work to which we are called?
Stir up your power, O Lord, and come among us. Transform our hearts and help us to receive you in places where we expect, and in places where we least expect. Call us to those places and save us in those places. Amen.
This idea that God calls people to service who we might least expect is common. While we don’t know any of John the Baptist’s call story, I do wonder how John may have responded the first time God called him. “John, I am calling you to baptize and call people to repentance. This work will prepare the way for my son who will come into the world, a person who is greater than you.” I imagine John may have told God “No!” a few times himself, or said “Please let me do anything else!” After all, John had his life planned out. He would spend his days eating locust and honey and sew his own clothes made from camel hair. These days, we might call John “crunchy”. He’d probably be wearing socks with his Birkenstocks. I wonder how John might have wrestled with God when God called him to wilderness work.
Whether or not, we know how John initially answered God’s call to baptize and preach repentance, we know that John did answer the call. And we hear in the gospel this morning, not John questioning his own call, but the crowd. They ask him “Who are you?’’ And the real questions behind the question is “Where are your credentials?” “What gives you the right to baptize and teach and preach repentance?” “Are you the prophet?” “Are you Elijah?” You see, the priests and Levites sent to question John did not expect someone like him to be performing rites of purification and teaching. These were jobs left usually to Temple professionals like themselves. John’s type was the last kind of person they expected to be doing the holy and important work of God.
And John answers them, “I am not the prophet. I baptize with water, but the one coming after me, (who John already knew to be the Christ), is someone you won’t recognize either. If we go back a few verses in John from the ones we heard in our Gospel today, we read “He was in the world, and the world came into being through him, yet the world did not know him. He came to what was his own,and his own people did not accept him.” God sent God’s son into the world, and the world did not know him. The world did not recognize God made known to us in the person of Jesus. In the person of Jesus, God did something new. God is always doing something new. God is always challenging our perceptions. God is always asking us to find God’s self in places we don’t expect.
And God is always stirring. The collect for today, the Third Sunday of Advent, begins “Stir up your power, O Lord, and with great might come among us.” And I can’t think of a text that embodies this stirring up more than the Song of Mary. She says that God has shown God’s strength, but not how we might expect. He has scattered the proud in their conceit and honored those who are humble. He has cast down the mighty from their thrones of power and saved and given special place to those who are usually left out. He has sent the rich away empty and given the resources of the rich to those in need. In all of this, God has flipped the world as we know it upside down. And God did this in the person of Jesus, who John the Baptist points to as the one who will come after him.
Part of our work in this season of Advent is to prepare our hearts to be stirred by God’s power so that we may receive Christ when he comes- so that we don’t miss Christ at Christmas when we might be looking for someone or something else. So, where do we find God? We look to the places that make us wince. The places that stand out. The places that are different. Next week, we will find God on a cold, silent night in a trough made to feed barn animals, wrapped in strips of spare fabric. We will find God in Christ not in strength, but in the weak, helplessness of a newborn child. God will come to us in our beautiful church, yes, but also in a barn, bugs flying around, mice nesting in the corner. We will find God tended to not by hired help, but by shepherds- field hands who have heard the call of God to come and find God’s self in a place they least expected. God’s love drew them to that place on that holy night, and God’s love still draws us go to places where we might at first say no.
As we prepare for Christmas, are we open to finding Jesus in a stinky, bug-infested barn? Are we prepared to answer God’s call to us even if we feel unprepared? Are we prepared to allow God’s spirit to call us and equip us for the work to which we are called?
Stir up your power, O Lord, and come among us. Transform our hearts and help us to receive you in places where we expect, and in places where we least expect. Call us to those places and save us in those places. Amen.
Dec 10, 2023 |
The Advent Frontier
| The Rev. Brandon AshcraftThe Advent Frontier
I love the season of Advent. It’s probably my favorite season of the liturgical year. But this year, the Advent calendar is causing me a bit of stress. As you may have noticed, Christmas Day falls on a Monday this year, as it does every six or seven years. As a result, the Fourth Sunday of Advent and Christmas Eve both fall on December 24 – which presents a challenge to churches that want to keep both observances. At St. Paul’s, we will celebrate the Fourth Sunday of Advent at one 10 a.m. service, and Christmas Eve beginning in the afternoon at 4 p.m. If attendance data from the last time this occurred is a reliable guide, very few people will keep Advent 4, and most will opt to come only for Christmas Eve. But this year, I’d like to challenge you, the faithful people of St. Paul’s, to prove history wrong. Let’s pack the church for the last celebration of Advent at 10 a.m. on December 24! After all, on the Fourth Sunday of Advent, the Blessed Virgin Mary is the star of the show. And I am sure you will agree that it is meet and right to dwell with the Mother of our Lord for an hour or so, before she gives birth to the Savior of the world.
Indeed, it is a shame when Advent gets cut short, because our society already pushes us to move right past Advent and begin celebrating Christmas in November. To repeat a statistic I shared with you last year, according to one music streaming service, the song “All I want for Christmas is you” by Mariah Carey had already been streamed 5 million times the day after Thanksgiving. But in an act of counter-cultural defiance, we liturgical Christians insist on walking the way of Advent before we celebrate Christmas. And as my favorite preacher in the whole world Fleming Rutledge reminds us, the season of Advent “begins in the dark.” By this she means that, before we embrace the light and joy of Christmas, we confront the world’s darkness in Advent. In the season of Advent, we look squarely at the problem evil without flinching and acknowledge the suffering in our world – the wreckage of wars, poverty, and natural disasters. Advent calls us to confront the dire consequences of sin and our participation in it. In the words of this morning’s Collect, in Advent we pray for God to “Give us grace to heed [the prophets’ warnings to repent and] forsake our sins.”
At this point, you may be thinking that rushing straight to Christmas doesn’t sound like a bad idea after all! You may be wondering: what’s so great about a season that focuses us on the world’s brokenness? What is to be gained from such an honest look into the dark? And the answer, Advent tells us, is nothing less than our freedom and liberation. Recall the very first words we prayed in today’s worship service: “Blessed are you, holy and living One. You come to your people and set them free.” This promise of freedom means that we do not have to live in denial. We can confront the world’s brokenness, not with despair, but with hope. Because the good news of the gospel – the good news of Advent – is that God is coming to set us free from all that holds us captive. In Advent, we hear the voice in the wilderness calling us to make a straight path through the desert, because God is on the move. This voice, this herald of good tidings, announces that God is about to solve the dilemma of human sin once and for all. In Advent, we prepare ourselves for God’s rescue operation – the “once and future coming of Jesus Christ.” His first coming in the manager at Bethlehem, and his future coming in power and glory.
This story of God’s intervention is announced each year in Advent by a locust-eating, camel hair-clad prophet named John the Baptist. And every year, we meet John the Baptist on not just one, but two Sundays (yes, he’ll be back next Sunday for part two!). John the Baptist, you could say, is the star of Advent. Although the actual John the Baptist would resoundingly resist being called the “star” of anything because, as he says over and over, his role is to prepare the way for the real star, which is Jesus. This John, the greatest among prophets, speaks of himself only by pointing away from himself - to the One whose sandals he is unfit to untie. “The one who is more powerful than I is coming after me,” he says.
To quote my favorite preacher again, Fleming Rutledge tells us that this wild man John the Baptist is defined by his location. And John’s location, she writes, is on a frontier: “a frontier of ages.” Yes, John bridges two ages: the gap between the Old and New Testaments. He straddles two worlds, proclaiming judgment on the former age while also pointing toward God’s redemption in the age to come. Rutledge reminds us that John is both the last and the first: “the last and greatest of the Hebrew prophets but the first person to belong to the arriving age of the Kingdom of God.”
And today, on the Second Sunday of Advent, this frontier dwelling prophet invites us to repent. To turn away from sin and toward a promised future of liberation and freedom. John’s message about the inbreaking of God’s kingdom is a message of profound hope and promise, but even as he preaches hope, John refuses to let us off the hook. In his call to repentance, he reminds us that whether we realize it or not, we too are part of systems of suffering in the world. In a moment, in our Confession of Sin, we will acknowledge this when we pledge to “repent of the evil that enslaves us,” including “the evil done on our behalf,” those systems that benefit us while oppressing others. And even as we affirm sin’s hold on us, we cling confidently to the Advent hope that God can and will deliver us from this evil that enslaves us.
Today, the great herald of hope John the Baptist calls to us from his place on the frontier between two ages, as he announces God’s rescue operation. Much like John, we are an Advent people defined by our location. And our location is a on a border between Christ’s first coming and his second. And on this Advent frontier, we live not in despair, but in confidence and hope, that Jesus, the Messiah, the One John the Baptist came to proclaim, will indeed come again. So, get ready. Prepare the way! God is on the move. Amen.
Dec 03, 2023 |
Sunday Sermon
|Sunday Sermon
Today is the beginning of a new church year: the first
Sunday of Advent. Of course, during this season of Advent, we are awaiting the
birth of our Savior, Jesus coming into this world to make tangible for us God’s
mercy and love. Also, this season is a reminder to us that we are always
awaiting Christ’s second coming, “the Son of Man coming in clouds with great
power and glory.” Jesus Christ will return marking the completion, the fruition
of the Kingdom of God on earth. The readings for this first Sunday of Advent
focus on the second coming, a day of judgment. Christ will “…gather his
elect…from the ends of the earth to the ends of heaven.” We don’t know what this
day will look like, what will happen, or what will come next. We don’t know the
when, though some have made predictions.
Back in the 1800’s, the Millerites, followers of a farmer named William Miller, decided that the world would end on April 23, 1843, based somehow on an interpretation of Scripture. Many gave away their possessions. When the day arrived and Jesus didn’t, the group disbanded. More recently, scientist Richard Noone decided that May 5, 2000 would be the day that the alignment of the planets and the thickness of the Antarctic ice mass would lead to global icy destruction. In 2006, minister Ronald Weinland, self-described as the end-time prophet of God, proclaimed the second coming would happen by the end of 2008. We don’t know the-when and that is precisely how it is laid out in Scripture. Jesus is not telling us when. Rather, we are being encouraged to live as though Christ’s return is imminent.
When the Gospels were written, people did expect Christ to return any day. We just heard in the Gospel of Mark, “Truly I tell you, this generation will not pass away until all these things have taken place.” Now, it’s been 2,000 years. It’s easy to see how most of us have moved on from this prospect of completion – not in any way a part our everyday awareness. But, what if it was? What if we lived our everyday lives expecting Christ’s imminent return?
In the passage from Isaiah this morning, the people are crying out to God, “O that you would tear open the heavens and come down, so that the mountains would quake at your presence.” Do you hear the desire for God in these words? This Scripture passage is set in the time after the Israelites have returned from being in exile in Babylonia, but while the temple in Jerusalem still lies in ruins. They are trying to cope with the devastation. They cry out to God, “Please come.” The passage concludes with the people acknowledging their dependence on God. “O Lord, you are our Father; we are the clay, and you are our potter; we are all the work of your hand.” In other words, we know we need you. This passage points to the power in weakness because when we acknowledge our dependence on God, our need for God, we open ourselves to God inspiring our lives; we open ourselves to God’s desire for our lives.
I love the metaphor of the clay and the potter. I read an article about pottery explaining the time and patience it takes to craft a piece of pottery (https://en.vogue.me/culture/therapeutic-pottery/). A ceramicist covered in the article says, “It’s taught me a lot about letting go a bit and not expecting perfection.” God, our potter, has infinite patience with our imperfections, actively waiting for us, always ready to inspire us as we are able to open are hearts to God. In this season of Advent, we are encouraged to be actively waiting for God, full of expectation for the gift of God living among us.
Just as God has infinite patience, so we need to be patient in crafting our relationship with God through prayer. “Leo Tolstoy tells the story of three hermits who lived on an island. Their prayer [to God] of intimacy and love was simple like they were simple: ‘We are three; you are three; have mercy on us. Amen.’ Miracles sometimes happened when they prayed in this way. The bishop, however, hearing about the hermits, decided that they needed guidance in proper prayer, and so he went to their small island. After instructing the monks, the bishop set sail for the mainland, pleased to have enlightened the souls of such simple men. Suddenly, off the stern of the ship he saw a huge ball of light skimming across the ocean. It got closer and closer until he could see that it was the three hermits running on top of the water. Once on board the ship they said to the bishop, ‘We are sorry, but we have forgotten some of your teaching. Would you please instruct us again?’ The bishop shook his head and replied meekly, ‘Forget everything I have taught you and continue to pray in your old way’” (Richard J. Foster, Prayer: Finding the Heart’s True Home, New York; HarperCollins Publishers, 1992, p. 80).
There is no right or wrong way to pray and there are no quick paths to developing our relationship with God. We need to give time to our prayer life. Advent lends itself to contemplative prayer, sitting quietly and simply being present to God. Desiring God is a part of our nature. But, we have to make the space to recognize our connection to the Divine. When sitting quietly before God, we are acknowledging our dependence on God, our need for God. We are desiring God to be our Savior, our source of comfort, mercy and inspiration – our perfect Love.
We don’t know when the Second Coming will happen, what it will look like, or what will come next. But, we know it will be Good News. As we heard in the Gospel passage, “From the fig tree learn its lesson: as soon as its branch becomes tender and puts forth its leaves, you know that summer is near.” If we live thinking that the Second Coming might happen at any time, might we be inspired to focus on developing our relationship with God, so that we come to that day without regret for what we squandered – time, talent, treasure, relationships, priorities – but rather we come to that day with hearts filled with joy for the love coming among us. After all, in that moment, it will be crystal clear what actually matters in life. Amen.
Back in the 1800’s, the Millerites, followers of a farmer named William Miller, decided that the world would end on April 23, 1843, based somehow on an interpretation of Scripture. Many gave away their possessions. When the day arrived and Jesus didn’t, the group disbanded. More recently, scientist Richard Noone decided that May 5, 2000 would be the day that the alignment of the planets and the thickness of the Antarctic ice mass would lead to global icy destruction. In 2006, minister Ronald Weinland, self-described as the end-time prophet of God, proclaimed the second coming would happen by the end of 2008. We don’t know the-when and that is precisely how it is laid out in Scripture. Jesus is not telling us when. Rather, we are being encouraged to live as though Christ’s return is imminent.
When the Gospels were written, people did expect Christ to return any day. We just heard in the Gospel of Mark, “Truly I tell you, this generation will not pass away until all these things have taken place.” Now, it’s been 2,000 years. It’s easy to see how most of us have moved on from this prospect of completion – not in any way a part our everyday awareness. But, what if it was? What if we lived our everyday lives expecting Christ’s imminent return?
In the passage from Isaiah this morning, the people are crying out to God, “O that you would tear open the heavens and come down, so that the mountains would quake at your presence.” Do you hear the desire for God in these words? This Scripture passage is set in the time after the Israelites have returned from being in exile in Babylonia, but while the temple in Jerusalem still lies in ruins. They are trying to cope with the devastation. They cry out to God, “Please come.” The passage concludes with the people acknowledging their dependence on God. “O Lord, you are our Father; we are the clay, and you are our potter; we are all the work of your hand.” In other words, we know we need you. This passage points to the power in weakness because when we acknowledge our dependence on God, our need for God, we open ourselves to God inspiring our lives; we open ourselves to God’s desire for our lives.
I love the metaphor of the clay and the potter. I read an article about pottery explaining the time and patience it takes to craft a piece of pottery (https://en.vogue.me/culture/therapeutic-pottery/). A ceramicist covered in the article says, “It’s taught me a lot about letting go a bit and not expecting perfection.” God, our potter, has infinite patience with our imperfections, actively waiting for us, always ready to inspire us as we are able to open are hearts to God. In this season of Advent, we are encouraged to be actively waiting for God, full of expectation for the gift of God living among us.
Just as God has infinite patience, so we need to be patient in crafting our relationship with God through prayer. “Leo Tolstoy tells the story of three hermits who lived on an island. Their prayer [to God] of intimacy and love was simple like they were simple: ‘We are three; you are three; have mercy on us. Amen.’ Miracles sometimes happened when they prayed in this way. The bishop, however, hearing about the hermits, decided that they needed guidance in proper prayer, and so he went to their small island. After instructing the monks, the bishop set sail for the mainland, pleased to have enlightened the souls of such simple men. Suddenly, off the stern of the ship he saw a huge ball of light skimming across the ocean. It got closer and closer until he could see that it was the three hermits running on top of the water. Once on board the ship they said to the bishop, ‘We are sorry, but we have forgotten some of your teaching. Would you please instruct us again?’ The bishop shook his head and replied meekly, ‘Forget everything I have taught you and continue to pray in your old way’” (Richard J. Foster, Prayer: Finding the Heart’s True Home, New York; HarperCollins Publishers, 1992, p. 80).
There is no right or wrong way to pray and there are no quick paths to developing our relationship with God. We need to give time to our prayer life. Advent lends itself to contemplative prayer, sitting quietly and simply being present to God. Desiring God is a part of our nature. But, we have to make the space to recognize our connection to the Divine. When sitting quietly before God, we are acknowledging our dependence on God, our need for God. We are desiring God to be our Savior, our source of comfort, mercy and inspiration – our perfect Love.
We don’t know when the Second Coming will happen, what it will look like, or what will come next. But, we know it will be Good News. As we heard in the Gospel passage, “From the fig tree learn its lesson: as soon as its branch becomes tender and puts forth its leaves, you know that summer is near.” If we live thinking that the Second Coming might happen at any time, might we be inspired to focus on developing our relationship with God, so that we come to that day without regret for what we squandered – time, talent, treasure, relationships, priorities – but rather we come to that day with hearts filled with joy for the love coming among us. After all, in that moment, it will be crystal clear what actually matters in life. Amen.
Nov 26, 2023 |
Sunday Sermon
| The Rev. Gabriel LawrenceSunday Sermon
For thus says the Lord God: I myself will search for my
sheep and will sort them out.
On this day, we gather in time on a threshold: the last Sunday of the Church year, the feast of Christ the King. We end today what we began a year ago on the first Sunday of Advent 2022, and we prepare to begin again next week on the first Sunday of Advent 2023. In this last year, we have walked through the story of salvation. We heard the prophets call us to repentance and then celebrated the birth of God into this world in the person of Jesus. We heard stories about Jesus healing the sick and even raising the dead. This past spring, we walked with Jesus through the week of his Passion- Holy Week- that lead to his death and then resurrection and then ascension. We celebrated the arrival of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost, and all summer and fall, we have continued to hear about the love of God made known to us in Jesus that still lives and moves in our hearts through the Holy Spirit. And today, on the last day of our journey, before we begin again, we celebrate Christ the King. It is a feast that ends our journey and begins a new one. The feast acts as a threshold to bridge us from what was to what will be.
But lest we are tempted to think that the Kingdom of God, ruled by Christ the King himself, looks like a familiar earthly Kingdom with all the trappings of a royal court, an army, a castle, crowns, fine robes, and power, we are given stories today in our texts that include sheep and goats. Kind of startling, isn’t it? On a day when we celebrate the Kingdom of God and the reign of Christ, the Church gives us barn animals.
In Ezekiel, we hear that God will search for God’s own sheep and will sort them out-- sort here meaning that God will count the sheep, see who is missing, and check on sheep that might need special attention. “I will bring back the strays. I will bind up the injured, and I will strengthen the weak.” God will also not only sort and help the sheep, God will also supply all of the needs of the sheep. “I will feed them with good pasture. There they shall lie down.” God’s promise here is that God’s sheep will live from a place of abundance. And then my favorite part- “I will feed them with justice.” God’s will make things right. God will rescue the sheep from all harm. “I will save my flock, and they shall no longer be ravaged.”
If we turn to the Gospel, we hear Jesus using sheep and goats to further talk about God’s will and work in the world. He tells us that those who give of themselves to take care of the least among us- the hungry, thirsty, sick, imprisoned, estranged- will be rewarded with eternal life. And in a dramatic act, Christ the King, will separate the sheep from the goats. He will separate those who helped and those who didn’t. (Something to note here: there are only two options. Either we help those in need or we don’t. Jesus doesn’t give us an option to be passive. Either we are serving him by serving others or we aren’t. These words can be tough to hear. Brandon reminded us in his sermon last week of the risky business of discipleship. Jesus doesn’t mince words here about our work as his disciples.)
But this parsing out is not a condemnation- even if Jesus’s words here are pointed and may feel harsh. This parsing out is an invitation to dream about a different kind of Kingdom, one very different from the kingdoms of this world- a Kingdom that is reimagined. If we look closely enough, these texts about sheep and goats- barn animals- are actually perfect assignments for today’s feast of Christ the King. Jesus is not giving us a list of who’s in and who’s out- who makes the cut and who doesn’t. Jesus is rather giving us a list of the citizens of the Kingdom of God- who the people are that make up the rule and reign of God. He is telling us what the Kingdom of God looks like and who the Kingdom of God looks like. And in stern words, Jesus tells us that the Kingdom of God is made up of folk who took the time to feed the hungry, quench the thirst of the thirsty, clothe the naked, visit the imprisoned, and heal the sick.
In this invitation to dream, to hope for a new world in which all are fed and clothed and healed, Jesus asks us “Who among you are hungry? Thirsty? Naked? Imprisoned? Sick?” He is asking us to take care of these people, yes, but he is also inviting us to ask ourselves who else is hungry and thirsty? Perhaps hungry and thirsty for justice and peace and an end to war and conflict. Who else is naked? Perhaps the unhoused in need of a home, house, to cover their life and provide them with safety and security. Who else is imprisoned? Perhaps a prisoner to addiction because addiction to something external is the only way they know how to cope with the pain this cruel world has dealt them. Who else is sick? Perhaps those with little or no access to healthcare, victims of a system that often only serves those who can afford care.
Today, we will baptize Chloe into the Body of Christ, the Church. And in this act of baptism, we will invite Chloe into this dreaming with us about what is possible in the Kingdom of God. Chloe’s parents and godparents, affirmed by our support, will take vows on her behalf to make sure she is raised up in the faith and joins in on God’s work already happening around us in the world. Into this imagined Kingdom that is not fully here, but to which we continue to strive and work toward, we baptize Chloe.
And here is the good news—it is by taking care of Christ by taking care of the most vulnerable, the sheep, we have eternal life. We experience an encounter with Jesus in the eye of the hungry, in the handshake of the thirsty, in meaningful conversation with the lonely, in the liberation of the prisoner. This imagining rests on the threshold of a feast- a feast that leads into our hope: the season of Advent, a season of preparation as we wait for the coming of Jesus at Christmas. For we are not left to imagine this Kingdom into being on our own. Jesus walks with us. We are not left to building this Kingdom on our own. Jesus picks up the hammer and nails and invites us to dream and work this Kingdom into being alongside him.
On this day, we gather in time on a threshold: the last Sunday of the Church year, the feast of Christ the King. We end today what we began a year ago on the first Sunday of Advent 2022, and we prepare to begin again next week on the first Sunday of Advent 2023. In this last year, we have walked through the story of salvation. We heard the prophets call us to repentance and then celebrated the birth of God into this world in the person of Jesus. We heard stories about Jesus healing the sick and even raising the dead. This past spring, we walked with Jesus through the week of his Passion- Holy Week- that lead to his death and then resurrection and then ascension. We celebrated the arrival of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost, and all summer and fall, we have continued to hear about the love of God made known to us in Jesus that still lives and moves in our hearts through the Holy Spirit. And today, on the last day of our journey, before we begin again, we celebrate Christ the King. It is a feast that ends our journey and begins a new one. The feast acts as a threshold to bridge us from what was to what will be.
But lest we are tempted to think that the Kingdom of God, ruled by Christ the King himself, looks like a familiar earthly Kingdom with all the trappings of a royal court, an army, a castle, crowns, fine robes, and power, we are given stories today in our texts that include sheep and goats. Kind of startling, isn’t it? On a day when we celebrate the Kingdom of God and the reign of Christ, the Church gives us barn animals.
In Ezekiel, we hear that God will search for God’s own sheep and will sort them out-- sort here meaning that God will count the sheep, see who is missing, and check on sheep that might need special attention. “I will bring back the strays. I will bind up the injured, and I will strengthen the weak.” God will also not only sort and help the sheep, God will also supply all of the needs of the sheep. “I will feed them with good pasture. There they shall lie down.” God’s promise here is that God’s sheep will live from a place of abundance. And then my favorite part- “I will feed them with justice.” God’s will make things right. God will rescue the sheep from all harm. “I will save my flock, and they shall no longer be ravaged.”
If we turn to the Gospel, we hear Jesus using sheep and goats to further talk about God’s will and work in the world. He tells us that those who give of themselves to take care of the least among us- the hungry, thirsty, sick, imprisoned, estranged- will be rewarded with eternal life. And in a dramatic act, Christ the King, will separate the sheep from the goats. He will separate those who helped and those who didn’t. (Something to note here: there are only two options. Either we help those in need or we don’t. Jesus doesn’t give us an option to be passive. Either we are serving him by serving others or we aren’t. These words can be tough to hear. Brandon reminded us in his sermon last week of the risky business of discipleship. Jesus doesn’t mince words here about our work as his disciples.)
But this parsing out is not a condemnation- even if Jesus’s words here are pointed and may feel harsh. This parsing out is an invitation to dream about a different kind of Kingdom, one very different from the kingdoms of this world- a Kingdom that is reimagined. If we look closely enough, these texts about sheep and goats- barn animals- are actually perfect assignments for today’s feast of Christ the King. Jesus is not giving us a list of who’s in and who’s out- who makes the cut and who doesn’t. Jesus is rather giving us a list of the citizens of the Kingdom of God- who the people are that make up the rule and reign of God. He is telling us what the Kingdom of God looks like and who the Kingdom of God looks like. And in stern words, Jesus tells us that the Kingdom of God is made up of folk who took the time to feed the hungry, quench the thirst of the thirsty, clothe the naked, visit the imprisoned, and heal the sick.
In this invitation to dream, to hope for a new world in which all are fed and clothed and healed, Jesus asks us “Who among you are hungry? Thirsty? Naked? Imprisoned? Sick?” He is asking us to take care of these people, yes, but he is also inviting us to ask ourselves who else is hungry and thirsty? Perhaps hungry and thirsty for justice and peace and an end to war and conflict. Who else is naked? Perhaps the unhoused in need of a home, house, to cover their life and provide them with safety and security. Who else is imprisoned? Perhaps a prisoner to addiction because addiction to something external is the only way they know how to cope with the pain this cruel world has dealt them. Who else is sick? Perhaps those with little or no access to healthcare, victims of a system that often only serves those who can afford care.
Today, we will baptize Chloe into the Body of Christ, the Church. And in this act of baptism, we will invite Chloe into this dreaming with us about what is possible in the Kingdom of God. Chloe’s parents and godparents, affirmed by our support, will take vows on her behalf to make sure she is raised up in the faith and joins in on God’s work already happening around us in the world. Into this imagined Kingdom that is not fully here, but to which we continue to strive and work toward, we baptize Chloe.
And here is the good news—it is by taking care of Christ by taking care of the most vulnerable, the sheep, we have eternal life. We experience an encounter with Jesus in the eye of the hungry, in the handshake of the thirsty, in meaningful conversation with the lonely, in the liberation of the prisoner. This imagining rests on the threshold of a feast- a feast that leads into our hope: the season of Advent, a season of preparation as we wait for the coming of Jesus at Christmas. For we are not left to imagine this Kingdom into being on our own. Jesus walks with us. We are not left to building this Kingdom on our own. Jesus picks up the hammer and nails and invites us to dream and work this Kingdom into being alongside him.
Nov 19, 2023 |
The Risky Business of Discipleship
| The Rev. Brandon AshcraftThe Risky Business of Discipleship
Newcomers to The Episcopal Church quickly discover that we have special names for just about everything. This big room we’re in right now is the “nave,” while the foyer at the back of the nave is the “narthex.” This colorful cape I’m wearing is a “chasuble,” while the napkin we use to wipe the rim of the chalice is a “purificator.” And I’m sure you’ve noticed in your bulletin each week that certain prayers are identified as “collects.” [Side note: If you want to see me go full-blown liturgy nerd, ask me sometime about collects.] For now, I’ll simply say that each Sunday in the Church Year has its very own Collect. And in more than one past sermon, I have professed – with all sincerity – that the collect for that Sunday was my favorite. But, really, I swear: today’s Collect is truly my favorite Collect in the entire Prayer Book.
I love today’s Collect for its focus on the Holy Scriptures. It reminds us that the scriptures are a gift from God. In a carefully curated crescendo, it describes how we are to engage the scriptures with all our senses: “Grant us so to hear them, read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest them.” In other words, scripture is the very food of our spiritual lives. Nourishment for our souls, just like the Bread and Wine of the Eucharist. And most importantly, this collect assures us that by feasting on God’s holy Word, we will find the “hope of everlasting life” that Jesus offers us.
However…if you were listening carefully this morning, you’d be excused for thinking twice before taking a bite out of these particular scriptures. Yes, you did hear the Prophet Zephaniah say, “I will bring such distress upon people that…their blood shall be poured out like dust, and their flesh like dung.” All I can say is, we only heard the beginning of Zephaniah this morning. I promise – it has a happy ending! I’d like to focus instead on our gospel passage, which is equally as distressing at first glance. In these final three weeks of the Church Year, the Gospel of Matthew is serving up some intense, fire-and-brimstone parables that set the stage for the season of Advent. Each of these three parables shares a common goal. Their purpose is to teach us how we are to live in anticipation of Judgement Day. How we are to live as faithful followers of Jesus, until he comes again.
In their attempt to impart this wisdom, they each use the same literary device. They cast their central characters into two distinct categories: those who choose the right way to live, and those who choose the wrong way. Those who find favor on the Last Day, and those who end up weeping and gnashing their teeth. Last week, we met the foolish bridesmaids who ran out of oil for their lamps. Then there were the wise bridesmaids who went oil shopping early, so their lamps kept burning until the Bridegroom’s return. Next week, two distinct groups of livestock will take center stage in our parable, but I’ll leave it to Gabriel to remind you whether you want to be a sheep or a goat.
For today, we’re dealing with two “good and trustworthy” servants and one “wicked and lazy” servant. As the parable goes, their master parcels out large sums of money to each servant. Keep in mind that in ancient times, one “talent” was equal to around 20 years’ worth of earnings. So, the first servant who received five talents received more than a lifetime of wages from the master! This servant, and the one who received two talents, or 40 years’ wages, doubled their money. As a result, they were found “good and trustworthy” and invited to “enter into the joy of their master.” But the servant who buried his single talent in the ground was “thrown into outer darkness.”
Now, I don’t know about you, but I find this parable incredibly disorienting. When it comes to investing, I value prudence and risk aversion. So, I really want the master to applaud the third servant for his caution. Sure, the other two servants doubled their money, but what an incredible risk they took! We don’t hear what would have happened if their luck had gone the other way and they had lost it all. But here’s the problem. If I try to turn this parable into a story about prudent investing, I miss what Jesus is trying to tell me about discipleship. Because the economy of his kingdom has a totally different set of values
Jesus did not live a cautious life. Indeed, the life and ministry of Jesus is one big story of a high-risk venture. At this very moment in Matthew’s gospel, Jesus has left the safety of Galilee for Jerusalem, confronted the antagonistic religious authorities, and will soon face off against the Roman Empire. And this risk-taking behavior will cost him his life. Jesus risks everything to proclaim the inbreaking of God’s kingdom. With reckless abandon he feeds the hungry, cures the sick, and blesses the meek. He goes all in for the sake of a world where the lowly are lifted up and the last are made first.
If we have ears to hear today’s parable, we’ll discover that risk-averse living is simply not an option if we want to be disciples of Jesus. That, in the economy of God’s kingdom, the greatest risk of all, is choosing not to risk anything. In other words, if we insist on playing it safe, if we let fear get the best of us, we might miss the everlasting life – the abundant life – that Jesus promises us. Because loving as Jesus calls us to love is risky business.
My friends, where, in your life, are you burying your talents in the ground? Where in your life is fear holding you back from doing the work of the gospel? As a community of Jesus followers, we should consider what wisdom this parable has to offer us in this moment in our life together. Particularly after raising such a large sum of money. As we prepare to spend our capital campaign talents, we have earmarked more than $500,000 for outreach – for kingdom building work. How would we spend this money if we let this parable serve as our blueprint? If we were to hear, read, mark, learn and inwardly digest this scripture, what might we be willing to risk for the sake of God’s kingdom?
Oct 29, 2023 |
Sunday Sermon
|Sunday Sermon
Well, here we are, once again: the Pharisees are plotting to
entrap Jesus. Last week, Brandon preached on the passage earlier in the Gospel
of Matthew, where the Pharisees ask Jesus, “Is it lawful to pay taxes to the
emperor, or not?” Jesus replies, “Give to the emperor the things that are the
emperor’s, and to God the things that are God’s.” The passage concluded, “When
they heard this, they were amazed; and they left him and went away.” In the
intervening passage between last Sunday and today, the Sadducees take their
turn at trying to entrap Jesus. The Sadducees were a priestly sect that did not
believe in resurrection. They propose a scenario to Jesus. What if there are
seven brothers, each dies childless, each leaves his widow to the next brother.
In the resurrection, of the seven brothers, whose wife will she be? Jesus tells
them that not only do they not understand Scripture, they don’t understand the
power of God. I’ll leave the interpretation of this passage for another day. But,
just know that when Jesus tells the Sadducees, “God is not God of the dead, but
of the living,” the Sadducees are astounded.
Today, we hear the verses following the Seven Brothers story. Jesus has silenced the Sadducees and now the Pharisees are trying again. Jesus stumps them with a line of questioning about the Messiah being both the son of David and the one that David calls Lord. “The Messiah is both in the line of David and transcends his lineage” (Tim Beach-Verhey, Feasting on the Word, Year A, Volume 4, p. 216). The passage concludes, “No one was able to give him an answer, nor from that day did anyone dare to ask him any more questions.” First, last week, the Pharisees were amazed. Then, the Sadducees were astounded. Now, the Pharisees are speechless and done asking questions. Jesus has made his point. He is saying, “Listen to me. I speak with ultimate knowledge and authority. I am offering you Good News. Love your neighbor as yourself.” It’s not a new message for Jesus’ antagonists, nor for his followers. The Old Testament passage this morning from Leviticus ends with these words: “You shall love your neighbor as yourself; I am the Lord.” God’s loving message is as old as time. We are not fully loving God if we are not loving what God loves. God wants us to know that the path forward to healing this broken world is loving our neighbor as our self.
We can be overwhelmed by the divisiveness in Washington – the lack of moral character – the thirst for power that voids all desire to collaborate in decision-making. We can be overwhelmed by the wars in the Holy Land and Ukraine, the animosity, the depravity. Yet, we need to remind ourselves that living in the light of Christ has always been countercultural. The arc of the moral universe is long. Just as Paul encouraged the Thessalonians to remain faithful, we encourage one another to live as we are meant to live, cultivating the Kingdom of God, trusting that when we love our neighbor as ourselves, the seeds will grow, however long it might take to come to fruition.
I am serving on the Board of Trustees for Bexley Seabury Seminary. I was at a Board meeting a couple of weeks ago. Bishop Doug Sparks, Bishop of the Diocese of Northern Indiana, who is the President of the Board, told a story from his childhood. He is a twin. When he and his sister were four years old, their father was diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease and was placed in an institution where he lived for the next ten years until his death. Doug and his sister attended a Catholic School. He remembers the sadness and trauma of being teased about not having a Dad. Of course, his Dad couldn’t show up for any of those parent-child events at school. One day, when Doug and his sister were in 3rd grade, the priest came into the classroom and announced that he was taking Doug and his sister to see their Dad. Bishop Sparks talked about how amazing that moment was for him, the moment the priest named his Dad in front of the whole classroom. He made his Dad known. That’s how we love as Christ loves us. Upholding the dignity of every human being. Even more broadly, putting ourselves in the other person’s shoes. Always remembering that a person’s life experiences is the context for their beliefs and actions today.
Loving our neighbor as our self is not always easy. We have different personalities, different perspectives - at times strikingly different points of view. We come together in this faith community to support one another. We come together for forgiveness, renewal, refreshment, and inspiration to live our everyday lives in the light of Christ. Well, I do need to shake my head just a bit that after nine months of raising money to support the Walking in Love Capital Campaign, and just one week after a wonderful celebration of a successful campaign, I now have the privilege of kicking off the Annual Campaign. Just as a reminder, a capital campaign focuses on the longer-term needs of the church. With the proceeds of the Walking in Love Campaign, we will be able to address major infrastructure needs that come around once every 20, 50, or even 100 years. In addition, we will grow the church’s endowment funds to ensure the long-term health of the parish by generating investment income that will sustain the ministries of the parish for generations to come.
Though annually, we receive investment income from the endowment, and we have a few other sources of other income, 70% of our annual budget comes from our annual pledges. Our pledges ensure that worship, music, pastoral care, education, outreach, and fellowship will continue to thrive throughout the coming year. This is a pivotal year for us at St. Paul’s because we are losing two of our largest pledges due to life transitions, which amount to more than 10% of total pledges. I ask that you prayerfully consider your annual pledge this year to help us cover our annual operating needs: all ministries and programs, clergy and staff salaries, outreach to our community and the wider world, facility maintenance and utilities, and Diocesan and wider church support. We come here seeking God, desiring to understand how to live our lives with God, how to live as we are meant to live, loving our neighbor as our self. Living in gratitude for God’s love in our lives, we give to support the ministries, which nourish us individually and as a community. As always, I am so grateful for your gifts of time, talent, and treasure, and so grateful to be on this journey with you. Amen.
Today, we hear the verses following the Seven Brothers story. Jesus has silenced the Sadducees and now the Pharisees are trying again. Jesus stumps them with a line of questioning about the Messiah being both the son of David and the one that David calls Lord. “The Messiah is both in the line of David and transcends his lineage” (Tim Beach-Verhey, Feasting on the Word, Year A, Volume 4, p. 216). The passage concludes, “No one was able to give him an answer, nor from that day did anyone dare to ask him any more questions.” First, last week, the Pharisees were amazed. Then, the Sadducees were astounded. Now, the Pharisees are speechless and done asking questions. Jesus has made his point. He is saying, “Listen to me. I speak with ultimate knowledge and authority. I am offering you Good News. Love your neighbor as yourself.” It’s not a new message for Jesus’ antagonists, nor for his followers. The Old Testament passage this morning from Leviticus ends with these words: “You shall love your neighbor as yourself; I am the Lord.” God’s loving message is as old as time. We are not fully loving God if we are not loving what God loves. God wants us to know that the path forward to healing this broken world is loving our neighbor as our self.
We can be overwhelmed by the divisiveness in Washington – the lack of moral character – the thirst for power that voids all desire to collaborate in decision-making. We can be overwhelmed by the wars in the Holy Land and Ukraine, the animosity, the depravity. Yet, we need to remind ourselves that living in the light of Christ has always been countercultural. The arc of the moral universe is long. Just as Paul encouraged the Thessalonians to remain faithful, we encourage one another to live as we are meant to live, cultivating the Kingdom of God, trusting that when we love our neighbor as ourselves, the seeds will grow, however long it might take to come to fruition.
I am serving on the Board of Trustees for Bexley Seabury Seminary. I was at a Board meeting a couple of weeks ago. Bishop Doug Sparks, Bishop of the Diocese of Northern Indiana, who is the President of the Board, told a story from his childhood. He is a twin. When he and his sister were four years old, their father was diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease and was placed in an institution where he lived for the next ten years until his death. Doug and his sister attended a Catholic School. He remembers the sadness and trauma of being teased about not having a Dad. Of course, his Dad couldn’t show up for any of those parent-child events at school. One day, when Doug and his sister were in 3rd grade, the priest came into the classroom and announced that he was taking Doug and his sister to see their Dad. Bishop Sparks talked about how amazing that moment was for him, the moment the priest named his Dad in front of the whole classroom. He made his Dad known. That’s how we love as Christ loves us. Upholding the dignity of every human being. Even more broadly, putting ourselves in the other person’s shoes. Always remembering that a person’s life experiences is the context for their beliefs and actions today.
Loving our neighbor as our self is not always easy. We have different personalities, different perspectives - at times strikingly different points of view. We come together in this faith community to support one another. We come together for forgiveness, renewal, refreshment, and inspiration to live our everyday lives in the light of Christ. Well, I do need to shake my head just a bit that after nine months of raising money to support the Walking in Love Capital Campaign, and just one week after a wonderful celebration of a successful campaign, I now have the privilege of kicking off the Annual Campaign. Just as a reminder, a capital campaign focuses on the longer-term needs of the church. With the proceeds of the Walking in Love Campaign, we will be able to address major infrastructure needs that come around once every 20, 50, or even 100 years. In addition, we will grow the church’s endowment funds to ensure the long-term health of the parish by generating investment income that will sustain the ministries of the parish for generations to come.
Though annually, we receive investment income from the endowment, and we have a few other sources of other income, 70% of our annual budget comes from our annual pledges. Our pledges ensure that worship, music, pastoral care, education, outreach, and fellowship will continue to thrive throughout the coming year. This is a pivotal year for us at St. Paul’s because we are losing two of our largest pledges due to life transitions, which amount to more than 10% of total pledges. I ask that you prayerfully consider your annual pledge this year to help us cover our annual operating needs: all ministries and programs, clergy and staff salaries, outreach to our community and the wider world, facility maintenance and utilities, and Diocesan and wider church support. We come here seeking God, desiring to understand how to live our lives with God, how to live as we are meant to live, loving our neighbor as our self. Living in gratitude for God’s love in our lives, we give to support the ministries, which nourish us individually and as a community. As always, I am so grateful for your gifts of time, talent, and treasure, and so grateful to be on this journey with you. Amen.
Oct 22, 2023 |
The Currency of God’s Kingdom
| The Rev. Brandon AshcraftThe Currency of God’s Kingdom
When I was in high school, a teacher once accused me of being “obsequious.” Having not yet encountered this word in my SAT prep, I was forced to look it up in the dictionary (which, in the pre-smartphone age, meant I had to find an actual dictionary). You can imagine my indignation upon learning that an “obsequious” person relies on excessive flattery to ingratiate themselves with someone important. In other words, my teacher had used a fancy word to call me a kiss-up! Adding insult to injury, I learned that an “obsequious” person is, by definition, insincere. Disingenuous. Which is to say, it’s a perfect word to describe Jesus’ rivals in the passage we just heard. These obsequious opponents greet Jesus with words of fawning, insincere flattery. “Teacher,” they say to Jesus, “we know that you are sincere, and teach the way of God in accordance with truth.” But their true intention is to entrap Jesus. Their words are full of praise, but their hearts are full of malice.
In our Gospel passages the last few weeks, this tension between Jesus and his adversaries has been building. Remember, today’s scene takes place only days after the events of Palm Sunday. When Jesus entered Jerusalem on a donkey and was greeted with cries of “hosanna,” as the crowds proclaimed him the long-awaited Jewish Messiah. From there, Jesus moves to the Temple, where we find him today – at the very center of Jewish religious life and power. Teaching and telling parables, about a kingdom where the last will be first, and the first will be last. Understandably, those in positions of power are starting to feel threatened. So threatened, in fact, that an unlikely alliance has formed between the Pharisees (the religious elite), and the Herodians (friends of the emperor). Opposition to Jesus, it seems, turns enemies into friends. In only a matter of days, they will arrest Jesus and put him to death. But today, they test Jesus with cunning words in the form of this question: “Is it lawful to pay taxes to the emperor, or not?”
If he answers “yes,” Jesus will appear sympathetic to the Roman Empire. That would alienate his Jewish followers, who are the victims of Roman oppression. If he says “no,” he’ll expose himself to charges of sedition. And that would give the Roman authorities a reason to arrest him. Jesus appears to be trapped. Except, Jesus refuses to play by his questioners’ rules. He declines to answer yes or no, and instead asks them a question: “Whose head and title is found on coin used to pay the tax?” “The emperor’s,” they reply. “Give therefore to the emperor the things that are the emperor’s,” Jesus says, “and to God the things that are God’s.”
Jesus successfully evades their trick question. But what does his answer mean for us? For a long time, Jesus’ answer has been used to justify the separation of our lives into two distinct spheres: the civic realm and the spiritual realm. By calling us to “render unto Caesar what belongs to Caesar, and to God what belongs to God,” Jesus clarifies the relationship between obedience to the state and obedience to God. Many argue that his response suggests you and I have a dual allegiance: “to the teaching and commands of God, on the one hand…and to the government…on the other."
But if I’m honest, I find this interpretation deeply unsatisfying. It’s too simple and tidy. And Jesus was neither of these things. If we cling too tightly to a separation between our civic and spiritual lives, we deny God’s claim on the entirety of our lives. It’s true, we live now as citizens of an earthly kingdom governed by earthly laws. But as citizens of God’s kingdom first, our work is to bear the fruit of his kingdom even now, during our sojourn on earth. And this is a timely topic for us today, as we are weeks away from an election. And in that election, I trust that we, as people of faith, will cast our votes in a way that reflects our most authentic understanding of how best to love God and our neighbors, which is our highest spiritual calling.
Our participation in civic systems is not removed from our spiritual lives or divorced from the convictions of our faith. It is a place where we can become instruments of God’s peace, God’s justice, God’s righteousness, and God’s love. We see this clearly in our work with Greater Cleveland Congregations, where we work alongside other communities of faith for positive social change, often through engagement with those in positions of political power.
So, if this passage is not about bifurcating our spiritual and civic lives, what is its message for us today? Well, let’s go back to where we started – with Jesus’ obsequious opponents. Before Jesus even attempts to respond to their question, he calls out their hypocrisy, as he does over and over throughout the gospels, particularly in his ongoing disputes with the Pharisees. Contrary to a common misperception, Jesus is not here or elsewhere criticizing the Pharisees for their religious beliefs. Jesus was a faithful Jew and no doubt had great sympathy for the Pharisee’s devotion to Torah and its teachings. He condemned them not for their beliefs, but for their hypocrisy. For their false righteousness. For their false persona. For coming to him under the false pretense of being concerned about matters of faith when they just wanted to get rid of Jesus and preserve their own power. The intentions of the Pharisee’s hearts did not match the faith they professed.
Jesus calls us to different way of living. He calls us lives of integrity. Lives of authenticity. Lives of wholeness. Jesus denied any claim on that coin because it bore the image of Caeser. Instead, Jesus claims us as the currency of his kingdom because we bear the image of God. We are God’s currency of peace, justice, and love, in a world torn asunder by the evil fruits of war, hatred, and violence. Indeed, we are gathered here today to be nourished by God’s Word and sacrament to cultivate lives of faith that lead to good works. May we leave here today, renewed for the work of building God’s kingdom on earth. Amen.
In our Gospel passages the last few weeks, this tension between Jesus and his adversaries has been building. Remember, today’s scene takes place only days after the events of Palm Sunday. When Jesus entered Jerusalem on a donkey and was greeted with cries of “hosanna,” as the crowds proclaimed him the long-awaited Jewish Messiah. From there, Jesus moves to the Temple, where we find him today – at the very center of Jewish religious life and power. Teaching and telling parables, about a kingdom where the last will be first, and the first will be last. Understandably, those in positions of power are starting to feel threatened. So threatened, in fact, that an unlikely alliance has formed between the Pharisees (the religious elite), and the Herodians (friends of the emperor). Opposition to Jesus, it seems, turns enemies into friends. In only a matter of days, they will arrest Jesus and put him to death. But today, they test Jesus with cunning words in the form of this question: “Is it lawful to pay taxes to the emperor, or not?”
If he answers “yes,” Jesus will appear sympathetic to the Roman Empire. That would alienate his Jewish followers, who are the victims of Roman oppression. If he says “no,” he’ll expose himself to charges of sedition. And that would give the Roman authorities a reason to arrest him. Jesus appears to be trapped. Except, Jesus refuses to play by his questioners’ rules. He declines to answer yes or no, and instead asks them a question: “Whose head and title is found on coin used to pay the tax?” “The emperor’s,” they reply. “Give therefore to the emperor the things that are the emperor’s,” Jesus says, “and to God the things that are God’s.”
Jesus successfully evades their trick question. But what does his answer mean for us? For a long time, Jesus’ answer has been used to justify the separation of our lives into two distinct spheres: the civic realm and the spiritual realm. By calling us to “render unto Caesar what belongs to Caesar, and to God what belongs to God,” Jesus clarifies the relationship between obedience to the state and obedience to God. Many argue that his response suggests you and I have a dual allegiance: “to the teaching and commands of God, on the one hand…and to the government…on the other."
But if I’m honest, I find this interpretation deeply unsatisfying. It’s too simple and tidy. And Jesus was neither of these things. If we cling too tightly to a separation between our civic and spiritual lives, we deny God’s claim on the entirety of our lives. It’s true, we live now as citizens of an earthly kingdom governed by earthly laws. But as citizens of God’s kingdom first, our work is to bear the fruit of his kingdom even now, during our sojourn on earth. And this is a timely topic for us today, as we are weeks away from an election. And in that election, I trust that we, as people of faith, will cast our votes in a way that reflects our most authentic understanding of how best to love God and our neighbors, which is our highest spiritual calling.
Our participation in civic systems is not removed from our spiritual lives or divorced from the convictions of our faith. It is a place where we can become instruments of God’s peace, God’s justice, God’s righteousness, and God’s love. We see this clearly in our work with Greater Cleveland Congregations, where we work alongside other communities of faith for positive social change, often through engagement with those in positions of political power.
So, if this passage is not about bifurcating our spiritual and civic lives, what is its message for us today? Well, let’s go back to where we started – with Jesus’ obsequious opponents. Before Jesus even attempts to respond to their question, he calls out their hypocrisy, as he does over and over throughout the gospels, particularly in his ongoing disputes with the Pharisees. Contrary to a common misperception, Jesus is not here or elsewhere criticizing the Pharisees for their religious beliefs. Jesus was a faithful Jew and no doubt had great sympathy for the Pharisee’s devotion to Torah and its teachings. He condemned them not for their beliefs, but for their hypocrisy. For their false righteousness. For their false persona. For coming to him under the false pretense of being concerned about matters of faith when they just wanted to get rid of Jesus and preserve their own power. The intentions of the Pharisee’s hearts did not match the faith they professed.
Jesus calls us to different way of living. He calls us lives of integrity. Lives of authenticity. Lives of wholeness. Jesus denied any claim on that coin because it bore the image of Caeser. Instead, Jesus claims us as the currency of his kingdom because we bear the image of God. We are God’s currency of peace, justice, and love, in a world torn asunder by the evil fruits of war, hatred, and violence. Indeed, we are gathered here today to be nourished by God’s Word and sacrament to cultivate lives of faith that lead to good works. May we leave here today, renewed for the work of building God’s kingdom on earth. Amen.
Oct 08, 2023 |
Sunday Sermon
|Sunday Sermon
“The one who judges us most finally will be the one who loves us most fully," Frederick Buechner.
Frederick Buechner, the beloved writer and theologian, gets us started this morning with our reflection on Scripture. “The one who judges us most finally will be the one who loves us most fully.”
This morning’s Scripture, the Old Testament passage from 1st Isaiah and the Gospel passage from Matthew fit neatly together. And, both radiate judgment. In Isaiah we hear, “My beloved had a vineyard on a very fertile hill. He dug it and cleared it of stones, and planted it with choice vines; he built a watchtower in the midst of it, and hewed out a wine vat in it.” In Matthew we hear, “There was a landowner who planted a vineyard, put a fence around it, dug a wine press in it, and built a watchtower. Then he leased it to tenants and went to another country.” In both cases, the harvest did not go as planned. In Isaiah, the gardener expected the vineyard to yield grapes, but it yielded wild grapes. During this era of 1st Isaiah, the twelve tribes of Israel were split into two Kingdoms, the Northern Kingdom and the Southern Kingdom. The fall of Jerusalem was triggered, in part, by infighting between these two kingdoms. The vineyard yielded wild grapes; God’s loving cultivation of the vineyard is rejected. In Matthew, God sends his messengers to receive the fruits of the harvest, but the tenants (the religious establishment) first kill the slaves (the prophets) and then kill the son, Jesus. God’s messengers are rejected. Judgment sets in. In Isaiah, we hear, “Now I will tell you what I will do to my vineyard. I will remove its hedge, and it shall be devoured; I will break down its wall, and it shall be trampled down.” In Matthew we hear, “The stone that the builders rejected has become the cornerstone…Therefore I tell you, the kingdom of God will be taken away from you and given to a people that produces the fruits of the kingdom. The one who falls on this stone will be broken to pieces; and it will crush anyone on whom it falls.” Judgement - a harsh, difficult message.
The problem is we do lose our way. The garden is so carefully prepared: cleared of stones, planted with choice vines, tended to with a watchtower. The environment is prepared for growth, for enriching, abundant life and yet, we lose our way. Once upon a time, there was a corporation named Enron and there was a Big 8 Accounting Firm named Arthur Andersen. Enron was an energy, commodities and services company. During the bull market of the 1990s, Enron traded derivative contracts for any numbers of commodities: electricity, coal, paper, steel, even the weather. By 2001, they were executing trades worth about $2.5 billion a day. And then, the boom years ended. Competition increased, the company’s profits shrank, and executives began to rely on dubious accounting practices to hide the troubles. Arthur Andersen was Enron’s auditor. When the SEC began investigating Enron, some misguided employees at Andersen started shredding documents. In December 2001, Enron filed for bankruptcy. In June 2002, Andersen was found guilty of shredding evidence, and lost its license to engage in public accounting (Peter Bondarenko, Enron Scandal, Encyclopedia Britannica).
I worked for Andersen in the 90’s. I remember interviewing someone who had applied for a position, and he asked me a question I had never gotten before. He was wondering about the long-term prospects for this organization. I remember thinking what a strange, rather uninformed question. Andersen was a model of integrity and stability. Why wouldn’t it be around forever? Well, that young man turned out to be rather prescient. What I find so disturbing about this historic event is that, between Enron and Andersen, 100,000 employees lost their jobs and billions was lost in retirement and pension funds because of the decisions made by a few. We are accountable to one another.
The garden is so carefully prepared: cleared of stones, planted with choice vines, tended to with a watchtower. We are given the foundation for just and right living, and yet, we lose our way. The Wagner-Steagall Housing Act was passed into law on September 1, 1937. This law established the U.S. Housing Authority (USHA), a loan-granting agency to build low-cost housing around the country. At that time, mortgage loans required a 30-50% down payment with terms of just 5-10 years. With USHA, down payments were reduced to 10-20% with terms of 20-30 years – affordable housing.
More than one million African American men and women served in the US armed forces during World War II. Yet, on returning from serving our country, they were denied these loans over fear that their presence in communities would devalue real estate. Thus, the term redlining: a policy of refusing to make federally insured mortgages in areas with significant African American populations, areas coded red on maps used in determining loan worthiness. Being denied these loans reverberates into future generations. Black people were pushed into the rental market. As housing values increased in white neighborhoods, the wealth gap grew between white and black people. Wealth accrued through home equity is passed down to the next generation. The average black family has 1/8 the net worth of the average white family. We are accountable to one another.>God is just, and we are called to live as God intends, with justice and righteousness, with compassion and love. There are consequences of living outside of God’s intentions. Directly, we hurt one another. Indirectly, allowing systems of injustice, we abandon one another. In Scripture, the words of judgment are harsh, meant to capture our attention, meant to draw us back into this divine love song. The passage from Isaiah opens with these words: “Let me sing for my beloved my love-song concerning his vineyard.” God wants us to experience the goodness of justice and righteousness, of compassion and love. The harsh words of judgment are warning us of the consequences of living outside of God’s intentions. Within our souls, we will be unsettled, lonely, empty. But judgment is not the end game. Judgment is the door opening. Judgment invites us back into a place of being right with the world. God wants us to know the peace, which surpasses all understanding. “The one who judges us most finally will be the one who loves us most fully.” Amen.
Oct 01, 2023 |
Running After God's Promises
| The Rev. Brandon AshcraftRunning After God's Promises
“O God: Grant us the fullness of your grace, that we, running to obtain your promises, may become partakers of your heavenly treasure.”These words from today’s opening Collect are prayed every year on this Sunday. It’s one of my favorite collects in the entire Prayer Book because I love the imagery of running to obtain God’s promises. And friends, let me tell you, I am not a runner. At all. But, abundant and eternal life in the Kingdom of God? Heavenly treasure? I’d like to think these are promises I’d be willing to run after.
I’ve been thinking a lot about God’s promises lately because in just the last week at St. Paul’s, we held three funeral services. Three beloved members of the St. Paul’s community – George Shook, Gary Mitchener, and Bob Emmet – were celebrated and commended to God’s eternal safekeeping from this sacred space. Even if you did not have the privilege to know these men during their lifetimes, we are all impacted by their deaths as members with them of the Body of Christ. The grief that accompanies their loss, and the joy at their entrance into the nearer presence of God, are present with us in this moment in the life of St. Paul’s.
Funerals are powerful reminders to us of God’s promises. The burial liturgy of our Prayer Book finds all its meaning in the hopeful promise of resurrection to eternal life. It reminds those of us still on our earthly pilgrimage that Jesus has conquered death forever, which frees us to live with confidence and boldness now. We are emboldened to embrace the abundant life that Jesus promises us even now, in this life. Most of us think of eternal life in terms of time: as life that never ends. And, indeed, it is that. But eternal life, as it is described in scripture, refers not only to never-ending life with God on the other side of the grave. Eternal life refers also to a quality of life that is available to us even now. A participation in God’s divine life that is available to us in this life, through Jesus. In the gospel of John, Jesus says, “This is eternal life, that [you] may know…the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom [he] has sent.” Each Sunday celebration of the Holy Eucharist is an opportunity to renew our commitment to know Jesus and to seek this eternal life. Each Sunday we are invited to live deeper lives of faith. To live as more intentional followers of Jesus. To make an honest appraisal of our lives and consider whether we are running or simply ambling along on our journey of faith.
Today is a particularly good Sunday to consider this, because it is the last Sunday of our Capital Campaign. And as this critical chapter in our communal life comes to an end, we are reminded of the incredible generosity of this community. It’s a powerful testament to this generosity that we’ve raised almost six million dollars, and this moment in our lives together is indeed something to celebrate. It’s also a moment to renew our commitment to living lives rooted in Jesus and seeking the kingdom of God. To live more deeply into our baptismal vows to follow Jesus as Lord, to proclaim the Good News of God in Christ, to love our neighbor, and to work for justice and peace.
Indeed, today’s Gospel passage points us to this choice. In it, Jesus tells us a parable about two sons whose father sends them to work in his vineyard. The first son refuses to heed his father’s command, but in the end, he changes his mind and goes to work in the vineyard. The second son responds favorably to his father’s command but then never follows through. As far as the parables of Jesus go, this is a blessedly simple one. The first son says the wrong thing but does the right thing; the second son says the right thing, but his actions fall short of his words. The moral of the parable can be summarized rather succinctly with this common expression: actions speak louder than words.
When Jesus told this parable, he was speaking to the Pharisees and religious leaders. The insiders. The people who were adjacent to wealth and power. People, let’s be honest, who are more like us than we might care to admit. So, we would do well to hear Jesus’ parable as not only an invitation, but also a warning. As we steward this wealth we have so quickly amassed, we should ask: will we be like the son who talks the talk, but doesn’t walk the walk, or will we go to labor in the vineyard with renewed fervor? Will we embrace the values of Jesus’ kingdom not only with our lips, but in our lives? Will we, the stewards of great wealth, confront social and economic inequities and other injustices and do our part to build the kingdom of God? Will we say yes to God’s promise of eternal life? Faithful stewardship of our financial resources is the ongoing, never-ending work of the faith community. Fortifying our buildings and replenishing our endowment is something we do first and foremost so we can participate in God’s mission. So the question our Gospel poses to us this morning is this: which son will we be?