15 January 2012 ['preached' on the internet]
A common thread runs through the first reading and the gospel. Both, when put together, offer us an invitation to follow God and then show us how people respond to God’s call. The first lesson is about a response to God as the Israelites understood God; in the gospel reading, it is to Jesus. This mystery of God is something which we, like Andrew and Simon, can ‘see’ if we, like them, come and follow Christ.
The call of Samuel is a story we know well. Things have been hard in Israel, the voice of prophecy has been silent for some time, and there have been no visions. Israel has been cut off from God. Samuel, whose name in Hebrew means, ‘The name of God,’ is the son of Elkanah and Hannah who were childless and on in years. His parents went on an annual pilgrimage and at the temple of Shiloh, she vowed that, if given a son, she would give him to God’s service. In due time Hannah bore a son and she called him Samuel because the Lord had heard her. When he was weaned, she brought the infant to the shrine at Shiloh and left him there to be reared by the priests as she had promised. The child Samuel helped with the religious services. Each year Hannah would come with her husband to worship and bring Samuel a coat she had made for him.
Twice one night Samuel thinks he has heard the voice of the aging high priest, Eli, and goes to him, only to be sent back to bed. The third time this happens, Eli understands that this is the Lord calling Samuel and tells Samuel to answer with these words: ‘Speak, for your servant is listening.'
What is revealed is unfortunate. Samuel, now called as a prophet, has to tell Eli the next day something that will make the ears of Israel tingle: Eli and his household will suffer for the misdeeds of his two sons, Hophni and Phineas. The experience of being called by God and then reporting the prophetic words is a turning point in Samuel’s life for he realises that God has spoken directly to him.
The key here is the unflinching response of the young Samuel. When he is called by name, he answers instantly: Here I am (hinneni). Not only does he answer once this way, he answers twice. There is never any question in his mind who might be calling—it is Eli. We know better, but we have to admire the fact that Samuel comes right away. When on the third time, it is revealed to him (and us) that it is not Eli, but God calling him, he still answers with the same trust and self-offering: Here I am. The task to which he is called is not an easy one, though. He has to be a prophet, bearing tragic news to the aging priest. And yet he still responds, not turning away from his God-given task, but accepting it without question.
Compare, then, Samuel’s response to God’s call with Nathanael’s. Once again, the biblical name has some significance, for Nathanael means, ‘God has given.’ And in this case, God gives an invitation—not directly, but through the other disciples. Nathanael, otherwise known as Bartholomew, meets Jesus, who is on his way back from his baptism, passing through the village of Cana.
Before meeting Nathanael, Jesus runs across Philip and the sole recorded words of his conversation with Philip are: Follow me. Like Samuel, Philip drops everything to follow Jesus. There is no big discussion recorded, just the simple statement that Philip next finds Nathanael and tells him who this Jesus is—the son of Joseph from Nazareth.
Unlike Philip who asks no questions, Nathanael’s immediate response is a put-down: Nazareth? Can anything good come out of there? Can anything good come out of a place in podunk? Philip answers quite simply, Come and see.
Come and see. This is the next of several invitations in the Gospel of John. Come and see. It is a crucial invitation, one which we all would do well to follow. It is an invitation to which, if we respond with an open heart and mind, can change our lives.
Nathanael follows Philip but after his initial response, it is hard to imagine that he is going along out of a genuine desire for conversion. I imagine he is partly going because he wants to see who this person from nowhere is. When he finally meets Jesus, Jesus astounds him by correctly identifying who Nathanael is and what he has been doing.
Whatever skepticism Nathanael held before meeting Jesus, he loses. He now recognises Jesus as the Son of God, the King of Israel. But Jesus, in his wisdom, tells Nathanael how much easier it is for him to believe because of what has just happened between him and Jesus. Jesus then adds: Just wait until what will come—you will see more than this.
We do not have the continuation of the story here, but Nathanael becomes one of the disciples, and is present at the breakfast on the beach, which happens after Jesus’ resurrection. He follows Jesus until his own eventual martyrdom.
+
Through these two readings is a basic, simple conversation. The first person speaking is God, and the second person is us. God calls us, saying: Follow me! Come and see! And our response is: Here I am.
It is so simple, isn’t it? Or is it? (And, in the back of our minds, we hear the words of Psalm 139, Lord, you search me out and you know me… a psalm that states quite clearly that no matter how much we try to pull a Jonah act, God will still find us, and it is for the good because of God’s love for us.)
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When was the last time that someone invited us to do something different, unsettling or unexpected and we responded without hesitation: Here I am… ready to go, ready to do.
When was the last time that God called us to reach beyond ourselves, to stretch ourselves in faith, to take a risk and we answered without any bargaining or conditions: Here I am… ready to see, ready to trust.
Follow me. Come and see. Here I am.
It is so, so simple. And it is so, so hard. It is so much easier for us to be like Nathanael, questioning, doubting, even at times making snide remarks that cover our discomfort and our unease with something new. It is so much easier to believe in that which we can see and touch, than to trust in that which is unseen, intangible. It is so much easier to hang back than to jump up in the middle of the night to answer a voice crying our name.
Some clergy friends are in the same boat as I am in the discernment process, wondering where God is calling us next. One has found out, has said yes to God and is jumping into a completely new form of ministry. We others are still listening to God trying, of course, to be pro-active but also wanting some sense of what next. It can be hard to trust in this process, especially when one is not even in a congregation. Most of all, given my situation, I am asking and trying to listen to what I am to extrapolate from the past seven months.
Meanwhile, in preparation for my move, I have been sorting piles and piles of paper, whittling down the amount of boxes the movers will have to haul—partly to save money, partly because I am going to be so transient and partly because to do so is good for the soul. Yesterday I found on a piece of paper one of my favourite definitions of vocation, that is, calling, that comes from Church of the Savior that used to be in Washington, D.C. ‘Vocation is that which is simple, persistent, impossible and good for all.’ I know the pieces will all fit together...
As we look around, we realise that we are part of the communion of saints that has responded to God’s invitation to follow and come and see. Maybe our initial response was that of Nathanael, but we have stuck it out. Maybe we have reached a point that when God calls us by name—as we are at the moment of our baptism and from thereon in—we respond instantly: Here I am.
Surely those who formed the congregations where we worship and participate in God’s mission, and those who, in the history of the congregation, have kept it alive and well—they, too, have heard God’s call, and have answered to it. It has not been easy—any parish has had its real ups and down. But throughout it all, the people generally trust in God enough to keep following even when the path was unclear.
We all are part of this journey, continuing where our forebears have walked. It is up to us, now, here, to answer God’s call with an unflinching, unconditional, ‘Here I am.’ For, we never know—in our following, we too may see heaven opened and the angels of God descending upon the Son of Humanity.
Saturday, January 14, 2012
Thursday, January 12, 2012
Quid es tu?
O Sacerdos, quid es tu?
Non est a te, quia e nihilo,
Non es ad te, quia mediator ad Deum,
Non es tibi, quia sponsus ecclesiæ,
Non es tui, quia servus omnium,
Non es tu, quia Dei minister,
Quid es ergo? Nihil et omnia,
O Sacerdos.
[photo: ordination to the priesthood, 29 January 1994]
Monday, January 9, 2012
Epiphany 1B
7 January 2012 [preached at a daylong retreat of postulants, candidates, the Commission on Ministry's Committee on Discernment and Standing Committee of the Diocese of Vermont at the Bishop Booth Conference Center Chapel, Rock Point, Burlington, VT]
The gospel appointed for tomorrow fast-forwards us from the magi worshipping the infant Jesus at the crib, as we heard last night on the feast of the Epiphany, to the beginning of Jesus’ ministry. We do a lot of back-and-forth in the chronology of Jesus’ life throughout Christmastide and the beginning of Epiphany. We whip from the intimacy of Mary pondering all these things — her going to Bethlehem, the birth, the star, the magi — in her heart to John, Jesus’ cousin, standing at the River Jordan ready to baptise Jesus.
Just as Jesus stands at the cusp of starting into a whirlwind three years of ministry, healing, preaching, teaching and challenging people to envision a new way of being, a place where God’s mercy, justice and peace shall reign, we each here today stand in different places on our respective journeys. Some of us have a relatively good sense of where we are heading for the time being; others of us are in a state of total flux, doing our best to hear the small, still voice of God and what it might be saying to us.
In yesterday morning’s online daily meditation from the Society of Saint John the Evangelist, ‘Brother, Give me a Word,’ Brother Geoffrey Tristran writes: ‘When God disturbs you, breaks into your life — just when everything seemed nice and comfortable — be thankful — for that is God’s Epiphany to you.’
Sometimes we are not too sure whether we want that inbreaking but we oftentimes have no say in the matter. Surely we all have at one time or another pulled up all our stakes and moved into a new future. Surely we all have at one time or another, after much deliberation, made a decision that we only partially understood as we made it, trusting that in time, through God and a lot of listening in prayer, we would see how that decision fit into our life.
This morning we discussed in our small groups the nature of call and how we made the leap of faith to follow Jesus to the next stage of our journey as disciples. We would not be sitting here now if we hadn’t made a leap of faith at some point or another. The overall theme of this day is how our faith sustains us as we face the challenges that lie in front of us. (Perhaps the unspoken question but equally important is how do we reach out to others of faith in those moments when our own faith does not seem up to the task.)
Whether our faith is strong or wavering, one challenge is figuring out what our vocation is right now and where God might be calling us to exercise and live it next. As the baptised, each one of us is called to make the connection between daily work and life with our faith. This discernment is a challenging one, largely because so much of our culture teaches us that our worth is determined by our monetary value. When we think of ‘vocation’ we tend to get it mixed up with ‘profession.’ Many people go to work because they have to, not because the job they do excites them. Figuring out what our calling is has to do very deeply with one’s self, one’s understanding of self, of asking, ‘Who am I?’ and living this self authentically. In learning to find one’s call by God in this world, we have to do a lot of interior listening. And that is hard.
Novelist Frederick Buechner once said that Christian vocation is discovered in the connection of where we find our deepest joy and where we encounter the world’s deepest need. These connections differ from person to person. What is your joy? And where does it meet the needs of the world? How are you called to minister in that special place with the gifts God has given you at this point in your journey?
Finding one’s vocation, one’s unique call by God, is a life-long journey. But the hints that we are close to it are found in where we fall in love, where our deep imagination is seized, in what gets us out of bed in the morning, what breaks our heart, in what amazes us at times with deep and surprising gratitude. Knowing and saying Yes to God’s call to us is indeed something like falling in love again. When we know what our call is, it will decide everything for us.
Archbishop William Temple wrote, ‘Christian spirituality is the totality of life lived in Christ for the sake of the world in our time, with the aim that love might prevail.’ We could substitute ‘baptism’ and end up in the same place: ‘Baptism’ is the totality of life lived in Christ… because it is our baptism that demands us to find God in every place, situation and person. It is baptism that gives us the gifts and charisms to make sure that love will prevail in the world.
Lastly, baptism reminds us over and over again that we, too, are God’s beloved. That final word, that we are God’s beloved, is the epiphany we each need to hear, and then own. Because it is through the knowledge that we are God’s beloved, that we can take that leap of faith, follow God into a journey of wondrous adventures and challenges, knowing that all will be well, and all will be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.
The gospel appointed for tomorrow fast-forwards us from the magi worshipping the infant Jesus at the crib, as we heard last night on the feast of the Epiphany, to the beginning of Jesus’ ministry. We do a lot of back-and-forth in the chronology of Jesus’ life throughout Christmastide and the beginning of Epiphany. We whip from the intimacy of Mary pondering all these things — her going to Bethlehem, the birth, the star, the magi — in her heart to John, Jesus’ cousin, standing at the River Jordan ready to baptise Jesus.
Just as Jesus stands at the cusp of starting into a whirlwind three years of ministry, healing, preaching, teaching and challenging people to envision a new way of being, a place where God’s mercy, justice and peace shall reign, we each here today stand in different places on our respective journeys. Some of us have a relatively good sense of where we are heading for the time being; others of us are in a state of total flux, doing our best to hear the small, still voice of God and what it might be saying to us.
In yesterday morning’s online daily meditation from the Society of Saint John the Evangelist, ‘Brother, Give me a Word,’ Brother Geoffrey Tristran writes: ‘When God disturbs you, breaks into your life — just when everything seemed nice and comfortable — be thankful — for that is God’s Epiphany to you.’
Sometimes we are not too sure whether we want that inbreaking but we oftentimes have no say in the matter. Surely we all have at one time or another pulled up all our stakes and moved into a new future. Surely we all have at one time or another, after much deliberation, made a decision that we only partially understood as we made it, trusting that in time, through God and a lot of listening in prayer, we would see how that decision fit into our life.
This morning we discussed in our small groups the nature of call and how we made the leap of faith to follow Jesus to the next stage of our journey as disciples. We would not be sitting here now if we hadn’t made a leap of faith at some point or another. The overall theme of this day is how our faith sustains us as we face the challenges that lie in front of us. (Perhaps the unspoken question but equally important is how do we reach out to others of faith in those moments when our own faith does not seem up to the task.)
Whether our faith is strong or wavering, one challenge is figuring out what our vocation is right now and where God might be calling us to exercise and live it next. As the baptised, each one of us is called to make the connection between daily work and life with our faith. This discernment is a challenging one, largely because so much of our culture teaches us that our worth is determined by our monetary value. When we think of ‘vocation’ we tend to get it mixed up with ‘profession.’ Many people go to work because they have to, not because the job they do excites them. Figuring out what our calling is has to do very deeply with one’s self, one’s understanding of self, of asking, ‘Who am I?’ and living this self authentically. In learning to find one’s call by God in this world, we have to do a lot of interior listening. And that is hard.
Novelist Frederick Buechner once said that Christian vocation is discovered in the connection of where we find our deepest joy and where we encounter the world’s deepest need. These connections differ from person to person. What is your joy? And where does it meet the needs of the world? How are you called to minister in that special place with the gifts God has given you at this point in your journey?
Finding one’s vocation, one’s unique call by God, is a life-long journey. But the hints that we are close to it are found in where we fall in love, where our deep imagination is seized, in what gets us out of bed in the morning, what breaks our heart, in what amazes us at times with deep and surprising gratitude. Knowing and saying Yes to God’s call to us is indeed something like falling in love again. When we know what our call is, it will decide everything for us.
Archbishop William Temple wrote, ‘Christian spirituality is the totality of life lived in Christ for the sake of the world in our time, with the aim that love might prevail.’ We could substitute ‘baptism’ and end up in the same place: ‘Baptism’ is the totality of life lived in Christ… because it is our baptism that demands us to find God in every place, situation and person. It is baptism that gives us the gifts and charisms to make sure that love will prevail in the world.
Lastly, baptism reminds us over and over again that we, too, are God’s beloved. That final word, that we are God’s beloved, is the epiphany we each need to hear, and then own. Because it is through the knowledge that we are God’s beloved, that we can take that leap of faith, follow God into a journey of wondrous adventures and challenges, knowing that all will be well, and all will be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.
Feast of the Holy Name
1 January 2012 [preached at Church of Our Saviour, Killington, VT]
The lectionary makes us jump in time from what we heard last Sunday—we move from the vastness of the beginning of creation as portrayed by the fourth gospel to a simple incident in the life of the newly-born Jesus. Not only that, but we have switched back to the gospel according to Luke. We have backed up to the shepherds going to worship the Christ child in the manger, seeing and marveling at him and then returning glorifying and praising God. Mary remains quiet throughout this portion of the story, having already declared her great hymn of praise, the Magnificat. Then the gospel readings ends simply with the statement that the child was called Jesus, the name given him by the angel before he was conceived.
In Hebraic thought, to name someone is to know that person’s nature. The passage from Exodus recounts how God reveals the divine name in a single word, Adonai, I AM WHO I AM. Not that we can fully know God’s nature, but in that naming of God’s self, God tells us a bit about who God is—being and life. Then to help us, God provides a summary of God’s character—above all, abounding in steadfast mercy.
Likewise, the name Emmanuel, God-with-us, reveals some of Jesus’ character, namely that Christ is with us and in us at all times for ever. By becoming flesh and dwelling among us, God Incarnate in Jesus, is more present, more real to us. So who is this Jesus whose name we praise today?
Paul’s soaring hymn about the Christ in his letter to the Philippians, a hymn we always hear on Palm Sunday, attempts to express some of the mystery of God incarnate in Jesus. Paul’s words provide the same sort of contrast to the nativity story as the words from the Prologue to the Gospel of John, which we heard last week.
The gospel of Luke does not lack in its numerous names for Jesus. Jesus calls himself: The Christ, Son of Man, Lord/Master, prophet, shepherd, bridegroom, Lord of the Sabbath, Child of Wisdom, the very stone which the builders rejected…
Others call Jesus: Son of the most high, Son of God, Son of Adam, Son of David, Son of Abraham, my beloved Son, Emmanuel, Christ, Holy One of God, teacher/rabbi, prophet, king of the Jews, Christ of God, Master, Lord, Saviour, salvation, my Son, my chosen, the one who comes in the name of the Lord.
I doubt any of us has ever had that many names attributed to us! We know we are dealing with the Holy Name, the name at which every knee should bow, the name at which some of us do bow our heads.
Yet as I think about the rich collection of names the gospel of Luke provides for Jesus, then my mind moves onto the even more rich collection of names for God that humanity as created over the millennia. (Sandy Sasso’s book, In God’s Name, is a wonderful children’s book that I highly recommend.)
Good Muslims call God by one hundred names, names which highlight different attributes of the Divine One. Likewise for Jews, who have a rich storehouse of names for Adonai, the Creator. And you and I can create names for God, based on our experience of the Holy One.
Two experiences speak to the wonder of discovering new names for Jesus and for God… not something to fear, but something to embrace since we can never fully name who God or Jesus are; our language will always be limited.
+
The winter of 1988 two dozen women went on a Lenten retreat. During the retreat, they had opportunity to pray some of the embargoed texts that would become Enriching Our Worship. The first time they prayed the Eucharistic Prayer that includes the imagery of the mother hen watching over her chicks, many women wept. It was their first time hearing themselves included in the words. Enriching Our Worship now contains incredible words of Julian of Norwich in Morning Prayer. Julian writes of God:
As truly as God is our Father
so just as truly is he our Mother.
In our Father, God Almighty,
we have our being;
in our merciful Mother
we are remade and restored.
Our fragmented lives are knit together.
And by giving and yielding ourselves,
through grace, to the Holy Spirit
we are made whole.
It is I, the strength and goodness of Fatherhood.
It is I, the wisdom of Motherhood.
It is I, the light and grace of holy love.
It is I, the Trinity,
It is I, the unity.
Some may be and, indeed, have been threatened by thinking of God and Christ in new ways but it can change one’s prayer life in amazing and life-giving ways.
+
This past February I travelled to Jerusalem and was able to dip my toes into the three streams of the great faiths that share the holy city. Where else can one go from one holy spot to the next, be it at the Western Wall or the Church of the Holy Sepulchre? And where can one hear the cry to prayer from adjacent minarets? I visited sites holy to Jews, returning whenever I could to the Western Wall, their most holy site. I went to the Muslim holy sites though was not allowed inside. I finally ended up at the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, one of Christianity’s most holy places. I stood outside of the Edicule that holds Jesus’ tomb and, in time, was able to go inside to place my hand on his tomb. I saw pilgrims weeping at the tomb, pilgrims weeping at the Western Wall and thought: We are all in it together in our desire and our need to worship God.
No one can claim Jerusalem to oneself because of how the waters of these three faiths flow together. Yet the political realm crashes into that reality (a place I will not wander today). Walking the chaotic and narrow streets of Jerusalem, I understand better that people call God by many different names, yet ultimately the one they experience is the God of all creation.
In this day and age, people are still discovering new names for Jesus. Someone wrote on the separation wall between Jerusalem and Bethlehem: ‘Once a human rights teacher was born in Bethlehem.’ So you can add ‘human rights teacher’ or holy agitator to Jesus’ many names.
What names do you give to your understanding of Jesus? How does calling him a particular name help you stay connected with him, the human being fully alive in God? And how have your names for him changed over time? Which ones work for you today? And how might you find new ways of calling Jesus in the year to come? It is OK to find different names for Jesus… they are all a part of our attempts to apprehend the mystery of God made flesh.
While you and I celebrate in particular today the Holy Name of Jesus and the many, many names by which we know him, may we also remember we are talking about God, the God who abounds in steadfast mercy, not just for you and me, but for all peoples and creation.
May Jesus’ name be praised. May God’s name be praised in all the wonderful expressions that humanity has found to praise the Holy One. May the Holy One’s name be praised now and for ever more.
The lectionary makes us jump in time from what we heard last Sunday—we move from the vastness of the beginning of creation as portrayed by the fourth gospel to a simple incident in the life of the newly-born Jesus. Not only that, but we have switched back to the gospel according to Luke. We have backed up to the shepherds going to worship the Christ child in the manger, seeing and marveling at him and then returning glorifying and praising God. Mary remains quiet throughout this portion of the story, having already declared her great hymn of praise, the Magnificat. Then the gospel readings ends simply with the statement that the child was called Jesus, the name given him by the angel before he was conceived.
In Hebraic thought, to name someone is to know that person’s nature. The passage from Exodus recounts how God reveals the divine name in a single word, Adonai, I AM WHO I AM. Not that we can fully know God’s nature, but in that naming of God’s self, God tells us a bit about who God is—being and life. Then to help us, God provides a summary of God’s character—above all, abounding in steadfast mercy.
Likewise, the name Emmanuel, God-with-us, reveals some of Jesus’ character, namely that Christ is with us and in us at all times for ever. By becoming flesh and dwelling among us, God Incarnate in Jesus, is more present, more real to us. So who is this Jesus whose name we praise today?
Paul’s soaring hymn about the Christ in his letter to the Philippians, a hymn we always hear on Palm Sunday, attempts to express some of the mystery of God incarnate in Jesus. Paul’s words provide the same sort of contrast to the nativity story as the words from the Prologue to the Gospel of John, which we heard last week.
The gospel of Luke does not lack in its numerous names for Jesus. Jesus calls himself: The Christ, Son of Man, Lord/Master, prophet, shepherd, bridegroom, Lord of the Sabbath, Child of Wisdom, the very stone which the builders rejected…
Others call Jesus: Son of the most high, Son of God, Son of Adam, Son of David, Son of Abraham, my beloved Son, Emmanuel, Christ, Holy One of God, teacher/rabbi, prophet, king of the Jews, Christ of God, Master, Lord, Saviour, salvation, my Son, my chosen, the one who comes in the name of the Lord.
I doubt any of us has ever had that many names attributed to us! We know we are dealing with the Holy Name, the name at which every knee should bow, the name at which some of us do bow our heads.
Yet as I think about the rich collection of names the gospel of Luke provides for Jesus, then my mind moves onto the even more rich collection of names for God that humanity as created over the millennia. (Sandy Sasso’s book, In God’s Name, is a wonderful children’s book that I highly recommend.)
Good Muslims call God by one hundred names, names which highlight different attributes of the Divine One. Likewise for Jews, who have a rich storehouse of names for Adonai, the Creator. And you and I can create names for God, based on our experience of the Holy One.
Two experiences speak to the wonder of discovering new names for Jesus and for God… not something to fear, but something to embrace since we can never fully name who God or Jesus are; our language will always be limited.
+
The winter of 1988 two dozen women went on a Lenten retreat. During the retreat, they had opportunity to pray some of the embargoed texts that would become Enriching Our Worship. The first time they prayed the Eucharistic Prayer that includes the imagery of the mother hen watching over her chicks, many women wept. It was their first time hearing themselves included in the words. Enriching Our Worship now contains incredible words of Julian of Norwich in Morning Prayer. Julian writes of God:
As truly as God is our Father
so just as truly is he our Mother.
In our Father, God Almighty,
we have our being;
in our merciful Mother
we are remade and restored.
Our fragmented lives are knit together.
And by giving and yielding ourselves,
through grace, to the Holy Spirit
we are made whole.
It is I, the strength and goodness of Fatherhood.
It is I, the wisdom of Motherhood.
It is I, the light and grace of holy love.
It is I, the Trinity,
It is I, the unity.
Some may be and, indeed, have been threatened by thinking of God and Christ in new ways but it can change one’s prayer life in amazing and life-giving ways.
+
This past February I travelled to Jerusalem and was able to dip my toes into the three streams of the great faiths that share the holy city. Where else can one go from one holy spot to the next, be it at the Western Wall or the Church of the Holy Sepulchre? And where can one hear the cry to prayer from adjacent minarets? I visited sites holy to Jews, returning whenever I could to the Western Wall, their most holy site. I went to the Muslim holy sites though was not allowed inside. I finally ended up at the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, one of Christianity’s most holy places. I stood outside of the Edicule that holds Jesus’ tomb and, in time, was able to go inside to place my hand on his tomb. I saw pilgrims weeping at the tomb, pilgrims weeping at the Western Wall and thought: We are all in it together in our desire and our need to worship God.
No one can claim Jerusalem to oneself because of how the waters of these three faiths flow together. Yet the political realm crashes into that reality (a place I will not wander today). Walking the chaotic and narrow streets of Jerusalem, I understand better that people call God by many different names, yet ultimately the one they experience is the God of all creation.
In this day and age, people are still discovering new names for Jesus. Someone wrote on the separation wall between Jerusalem and Bethlehem: ‘Once a human rights teacher was born in Bethlehem.’ So you can add ‘human rights teacher’ or holy agitator to Jesus’ many names.
What names do you give to your understanding of Jesus? How does calling him a particular name help you stay connected with him, the human being fully alive in God? And how have your names for him changed over time? Which ones work for you today? And how might you find new ways of calling Jesus in the year to come? It is OK to find different names for Jesus… they are all a part of our attempts to apprehend the mystery of God made flesh.
While you and I celebrate in particular today the Holy Name of Jesus and the many, many names by which we know him, may we also remember we are talking about God, the God who abounds in steadfast mercy, not just for you and me, but for all peoples and creation.
May Jesus’ name be praised. May God’s name be praised in all the wonderful expressions that humanity has found to praise the Holy One. May the Holy One’s name be praised now and for ever more.
Christmas Day sermon
Christmas Day 2011 [preached at Church of Our Saviour, Killington, VT]
I have been greatly amused and intrigued over the discussion that has ensued after the media got a hold of the story that the mega-churches decided not to have services today. The pundits and blogosphere have had a field day with the news. Mind you, the last time Christmas landed on a Sunday was back in 2005 and before that 1994, so things surely have changed a bit since then or have they?
Nope. I do find it rather astonishing that economics have trumped faith. I can understand the minute congregation whose supply priest has to drive 65 miles one-way to get to the church, perhaps pondering not having a service on Christmas Day. But when everyone lives close by? Apparently the humungous churches in Texas decided it would cost too much to open their doors on Christmas morning. A spokeswoman for one of the megachurches said that 500 volunteers, along with staff, are needed to run Sunday services for the estimated 8,000 people who usually attend. She said many of the volunteers appreciate the chance to spend Christmas with their families instead of working, although she said a few church members complained.
The way some of the churches are getting around not having services today is clever: one enterprising church is handing out a DVD it produced for the occasion that features, in their words, a ‘heartwarming contemporary Christmas tale.’ Their spokesperson said, ‘What we’re encouraging people to do is take that DVD and in the comfort of their living room, with friends and family, pop it into the player and hopefully hear a different and more personal and maybe more intimate Christmas message, that God is with us wherever we are.’ That church considers itself a pace-setter and one that reaches out to the unchurched. They figure that the unchurched are not apt to come to church on Christmas Day anyway, especially since there are plenty enough services the night before.
Some observers of church growth wonder at this decision, given that Christianity is an evangelistic religion. One professor mused: ‘What about the people in society without strong family connections? The elderly, single people a long distance from family, or people who are simply lonely and for whom church and prayers would be a significant part of their day?’
What about them? Is this birth of Christ an individualistic or communal event?
Meanwhile, the other counter-cultural faith groups, the Catholics, Orthodox, Episcopalians and Lutherans do gather on Christmas Day because for them Christ’s birth needs to be celebrated in community. It doesn’t much matter to these faith traditions whether Christmas Day lands on a Sunday or not; for us, it is one of our major feasts and, therefore, there is no question about holding a service.
The mystery of God coming amongst us in the incarnation, in Jesus, our brother, is way, way too large to comprehend on just one night… or even the next morning… and so we keep coming back again and again, Sunday after Sunday. Still, this Sunday is extra-special because it is our usual day of gathering and it celebrates Christ’s birth.
Whatever your reasons are for coming this morning, I am glad you are here. I am glad there are companion pilgrims who understand the necessity for coming to church today—not just because it is a feast day or Sunday, but because, yes, indeed, it is Christ’s birth and we need to break bread together and be fed and celebrate his birth together, not alone.
+
The late Patricia Wilson-Kastner suggested that ‘Jesus became flesh so as to show forth the love of God among us, a love which is not merely an expression of good will, but the power of an energy which is the heart, core, and cohesive force of the universe.… Christ is the human expression of God to us, and thus we must try to understand what God meant in Christ… Christ is not simply the new male person, but one who shows all persons how to live. As a human he shows us what human self-possession and self-giving are. Thereby Christ shows us the link between divine and human, the cosmos and its conscious inhabitants.’
As though she had read the early 20th century Spanish poet, Antonio Machado, or Machado had spoken with her about who and what this Heart is, Machado’s poem, ‘Last Night’ puts into more concrete imagery who the Heart is that lies at the centre of our faith.
Last night, as I was sleeping,
I dreamt—marvelous error!—
that a spring was breaking out in my heart.
I said: Along which secret aqueduct, O water, are you coming to me,
water of a new life
that I have never drunk?
Last night, as I was sleeping,
I dreamt—marvelous error!—
that I had a beehive here inside my heart.
And the golden bees
were making white combs
and sweet honey
from my old failures.
Last night, as I was sleeping,
I dreamt—marvelous error!—
that a fiery sun was giving
light inside my heart.
It was fiery because I felt
warmth as from a hearth,
and sun because it gave light
and brought tears to my eyes.
Last night, as I was sleeping,
I dreamt—marvelous error!—
that it was God I had
here inside my heart.
+
How is God-with-us, Christ, the Incarnate One, manifest in you? How are you aware of the Heart of Love that lies at the centre of our world, at the centre of the universe? Are there moments when you have a fiery sensation inside you? Are there moments when something moves you to the point of tears? How is God the aqueduct that moves through your soul and nourishes it?
How, also, do you respond to the wonder of God incarnate? For our faith is profoundly communal and part of living a life of faith is to reach out to those around us.
John’s prologue makes clear that in God there is communion, unity, love and light, and from this communion, all creation flows. And this movement finds its fulfillment as the Word became flesh to lead human beings into a new communion with God, to become one with God.
Just as water flows to keep the earth alive, and our hearts beat to keep us alive, so does God’s love sustain all creation. And God’s heart is more vast—for ‘the heart of God is unbelievably kind.’
On this Christmas morning, may we dream that spring is breaking out in our hearts. May we dream that our failures have been made sweet. May we dream that the fiery sun that dwells in our heart bring us light and tears to our eyes. May we dream and then come to know that it is God we have inside our hearts which, as they joy in love, it’s because God Incarnate is our Joy, our Love, our Heart.
I have been greatly amused and intrigued over the discussion that has ensued after the media got a hold of the story that the mega-churches decided not to have services today. The pundits and blogosphere have had a field day with the news. Mind you, the last time Christmas landed on a Sunday was back in 2005 and before that 1994, so things surely have changed a bit since then or have they?
Nope. I do find it rather astonishing that economics have trumped faith. I can understand the minute congregation whose supply priest has to drive 65 miles one-way to get to the church, perhaps pondering not having a service on Christmas Day. But when everyone lives close by? Apparently the humungous churches in Texas decided it would cost too much to open their doors on Christmas morning. A spokeswoman for one of the megachurches said that 500 volunteers, along with staff, are needed to run Sunday services for the estimated 8,000 people who usually attend. She said many of the volunteers appreciate the chance to spend Christmas with their families instead of working, although she said a few church members complained.
The way some of the churches are getting around not having services today is clever: one enterprising church is handing out a DVD it produced for the occasion that features, in their words, a ‘heartwarming contemporary Christmas tale.’ Their spokesperson said, ‘What we’re encouraging people to do is take that DVD and in the comfort of their living room, with friends and family, pop it into the player and hopefully hear a different and more personal and maybe more intimate Christmas message, that God is with us wherever we are.’ That church considers itself a pace-setter and one that reaches out to the unchurched. They figure that the unchurched are not apt to come to church on Christmas Day anyway, especially since there are plenty enough services the night before.
Some observers of church growth wonder at this decision, given that Christianity is an evangelistic religion. One professor mused: ‘What about the people in society without strong family connections? The elderly, single people a long distance from family, or people who are simply lonely and for whom church and prayers would be a significant part of their day?’
What about them? Is this birth of Christ an individualistic or communal event?
Meanwhile, the other counter-cultural faith groups, the Catholics, Orthodox, Episcopalians and Lutherans do gather on Christmas Day because for them Christ’s birth needs to be celebrated in community. It doesn’t much matter to these faith traditions whether Christmas Day lands on a Sunday or not; for us, it is one of our major feasts and, therefore, there is no question about holding a service.
The mystery of God coming amongst us in the incarnation, in Jesus, our brother, is way, way too large to comprehend on just one night… or even the next morning… and so we keep coming back again and again, Sunday after Sunday. Still, this Sunday is extra-special because it is our usual day of gathering and it celebrates Christ’s birth.
Whatever your reasons are for coming this morning, I am glad you are here. I am glad there are companion pilgrims who understand the necessity for coming to church today—not just because it is a feast day or Sunday, but because, yes, indeed, it is Christ’s birth and we need to break bread together and be fed and celebrate his birth together, not alone.
+
The late Patricia Wilson-Kastner suggested that ‘Jesus became flesh so as to show forth the love of God among us, a love which is not merely an expression of good will, but the power of an energy which is the heart, core, and cohesive force of the universe.… Christ is the human expression of God to us, and thus we must try to understand what God meant in Christ… Christ is not simply the new male person, but one who shows all persons how to live. As a human he shows us what human self-possession and self-giving are. Thereby Christ shows us the link between divine and human, the cosmos and its conscious inhabitants.’
As though she had read the early 20th century Spanish poet, Antonio Machado, or Machado had spoken with her about who and what this Heart is, Machado’s poem, ‘Last Night’ puts into more concrete imagery who the Heart is that lies at the centre of our faith.
Last night, as I was sleeping,
I dreamt—marvelous error!—
that a spring was breaking out in my heart.
I said: Along which secret aqueduct, O water, are you coming to me,
water of a new life
that I have never drunk?
Last night, as I was sleeping,
I dreamt—marvelous error!—
that I had a beehive here inside my heart.
And the golden bees
were making white combs
and sweet honey
from my old failures.
Last night, as I was sleeping,
I dreamt—marvelous error!—
that a fiery sun was giving
light inside my heart.
It was fiery because I felt
warmth as from a hearth,
and sun because it gave light
and brought tears to my eyes.
Last night, as I was sleeping,
I dreamt—marvelous error!—
that it was God I had
here inside my heart.
+
How is God-with-us, Christ, the Incarnate One, manifest in you? How are you aware of the Heart of Love that lies at the centre of our world, at the centre of the universe? Are there moments when you have a fiery sensation inside you? Are there moments when something moves you to the point of tears? How is God the aqueduct that moves through your soul and nourishes it?
How, also, do you respond to the wonder of God incarnate? For our faith is profoundly communal and part of living a life of faith is to reach out to those around us.
John’s prologue makes clear that in God there is communion, unity, love and light, and from this communion, all creation flows. And this movement finds its fulfillment as the Word became flesh to lead human beings into a new communion with God, to become one with God.
Just as water flows to keep the earth alive, and our hearts beat to keep us alive, so does God’s love sustain all creation. And God’s heart is more vast—for ‘the heart of God is unbelievably kind.’
On this Christmas morning, may we dream that spring is breaking out in our hearts. May we dream that our failures have been made sweet. May we dream that the fiery sun that dwells in our heart bring us light and tears to our eyes. May we dream and then come to know that it is God we have inside our hearts which, as they joy in love, it’s because God Incarnate is our Joy, our Love, our Heart.
Christmas Eve sermon
Christmas Eve 2011 ['preached' on the internet]
No longer can I hear the story of the nativity with the same ears or see it with the same eyes of my imagination. For a long time, my heart has ached upon hearing the words, ‘O little town of Bethlehem, how still we see thee lie....’ Having gone to Bethlehem, no longer a little town, my vision of the place has changed.
The basilica, Christendom’s oldest complete and working church now devoted to Jesus’ birthplace, like so many other places in the Middle East, is a place of dispute. The Orthodox run the old part of the church where one gains access to the grotto that is the birthplace of Christ whereas the Franciscans hold masses in an adjoining church that is a smaller duplication of the older basilica. Elsewhere in the complex, Armenians worship.
The birthplace of Jesus is marked by a large star that most recently dates to 1717 and was also a source of dispute in the 19th century. Regardless of who wants the star in place and who does not, the star is clearly in a cave which was the typical place for animals to be kept as well as for women to give birth. Facing the star is the place where the manger was, just a couple of footsteps away. To venerate both, one must kneel down and stick one’s head under an altar and be careful not to bang one’s head against the suspended votives that surround the two spots.
The day I visited Jesus’ birthplace, things were not flowing smoothly in the basilica for the simple reason that Senator John McCain was visiting. He and his entourage swept past the long queue of people to descend the steep stairs into the grotto. The rest of us hoi poloi were left standing, waiting and waiting and waiting.
To leave Bethlehem to return to Jerusalem, one has to go through the partition wall, the thirty-foot high barrier that separates Israel from Palestine. It is forbidding, foreboding with its concertina wire up top, the gun turrets every so far, the huge sliding doors that allow army vehicles into the space between the two countries. Pedestrians walk through a cattleshoot-like tunnel to leave Palestine, enter the security area before exiting into Israel. The Palestinian side of the wall is covered by graffiti — exceptionally artistic paintings — whereas the Israeli side is barren.
Just as it is impossible to separate out the political from the spiritual today, so it was in Jesus’ day. Why should the Son of God be born into such a humble family, to an unwed mother who should have been cast off and rejected? Why should the Holy Family have had to scrounge for housing were it not for the census — a census dictated by an occupying force, the Romans. Then as now, the land where Jesus was born was under dispute. Most of all, why should God have chosen to irrupt into history at that point in time in that small person of a fragile baby?
Every year we come face-to-face with the mystery of the Incarnation, God-made-flesh, Emmanuel, in Jesus the Christ. Every year we have to grapple with the paradox of the splendour of God’s universe and the particularity of the crib. Every year we are reminded that the soft wood of the crib becomes the hard wood of the cross and that through this tiny infant humanity was redeemed. It is an awful lot to contemplate. In some ways, we avoid it all by the frenzy of shopping and preparing the household for guests and fancy meals. The mystery of the Incarnation is so mind-boggling when one gets down to it, that one chooses to focus on the candles and sentimentality of imagined perfect Christmas celebrations instead.
Underneath all the lights, wrappings, feasts, music and commotion, though, lies our simple human need to know that we are loved… loved beyond measure by the same God who created the universe and the Son of Humanity. That assurance is what we really seek. We yearn to hear God’s heartbeat under our ears, to know that God is as close as our breath.
Knowing that God loves us unconditionally and immeasurably will not take away the pain there is. God’s love won’t find us a job or housing or restore the ravaged hillsides and rivers of Vermont to their pre-Irene status. God’s love will not end cancer or improve the economy or bring back lost loves and friendships. Those sufferings are part of the finitude of humankind, they are the human condition. These limitations do, however, challenge us to make a difference — to bind up the broken-hearted, to heal the sick, to give water to the thirsty, to clothe the naked, to give food to the hungry, to visit those in jail. For those of us who know and love God, we are called to change this world to one where God’s mercy and justice — God’s jubilee — break into this otherwise incomplete and shattered world.
By struggling to infuse our world with God’s grace, we continue in the spirit that brought us Jesus who, as God made flesh, showed us God’s love. Jesus, the Alpha and the Omega, the source, the beginning — he, of the father’s love begotten.
We yearn for peace, we yearn for a healed world… and most of all, we yearn for God.
Come, Lord Jesus, come.
Come, fill our hearts.
Come, break down the walls that separate us.
Come, show us God’s love so that we might show it to others.
Come close once again.
Come, Lord Jesus, come.
No longer can I hear the story of the nativity with the same ears or see it with the same eyes of my imagination. For a long time, my heart has ached upon hearing the words, ‘O little town of Bethlehem, how still we see thee lie....’ Having gone to Bethlehem, no longer a little town, my vision of the place has changed.
The basilica, Christendom’s oldest complete and working church now devoted to Jesus’ birthplace, like so many other places in the Middle East, is a place of dispute. The Orthodox run the old part of the church where one gains access to the grotto that is the birthplace of Christ whereas the Franciscans hold masses in an adjoining church that is a smaller duplication of the older basilica. Elsewhere in the complex, Armenians worship.
The birthplace of Jesus is marked by a large star that most recently dates to 1717 and was also a source of dispute in the 19th century. Regardless of who wants the star in place and who does not, the star is clearly in a cave which was the typical place for animals to be kept as well as for women to give birth. Facing the star is the place where the manger was, just a couple of footsteps away. To venerate both, one must kneel down and stick one’s head under an altar and be careful not to bang one’s head against the suspended votives that surround the two spots.
The day I visited Jesus’ birthplace, things were not flowing smoothly in the basilica for the simple reason that Senator John McCain was visiting. He and his entourage swept past the long queue of people to descend the steep stairs into the grotto. The rest of us hoi poloi were left standing, waiting and waiting and waiting.
To leave Bethlehem to return to Jerusalem, one has to go through the partition wall, the thirty-foot high barrier that separates Israel from Palestine. It is forbidding, foreboding with its concertina wire up top, the gun turrets every so far, the huge sliding doors that allow army vehicles into the space between the two countries. Pedestrians walk through a cattleshoot-like tunnel to leave Palestine, enter the security area before exiting into Israel. The Palestinian side of the wall is covered by graffiti — exceptionally artistic paintings — whereas the Israeli side is barren.
Just as it is impossible to separate out the political from the spiritual today, so it was in Jesus’ day. Why should the Son of God be born into such a humble family, to an unwed mother who should have been cast off and rejected? Why should the Holy Family have had to scrounge for housing were it not for the census — a census dictated by an occupying force, the Romans. Then as now, the land where Jesus was born was under dispute. Most of all, why should God have chosen to irrupt into history at that point in time in that small person of a fragile baby?
Every year we come face-to-face with the mystery of the Incarnation, God-made-flesh, Emmanuel, in Jesus the Christ. Every year we have to grapple with the paradox of the splendour of God’s universe and the particularity of the crib. Every year we are reminded that the soft wood of the crib becomes the hard wood of the cross and that through this tiny infant humanity was redeemed. It is an awful lot to contemplate. In some ways, we avoid it all by the frenzy of shopping and preparing the household for guests and fancy meals. The mystery of the Incarnation is so mind-boggling when one gets down to it, that one chooses to focus on the candles and sentimentality of imagined perfect Christmas celebrations instead.
Underneath all the lights, wrappings, feasts, music and commotion, though, lies our simple human need to know that we are loved… loved beyond measure by the same God who created the universe and the Son of Humanity. That assurance is what we really seek. We yearn to hear God’s heartbeat under our ears, to know that God is as close as our breath.
Knowing that God loves us unconditionally and immeasurably will not take away the pain there is. God’s love won’t find us a job or housing or restore the ravaged hillsides and rivers of Vermont to their pre-Irene status. God’s love will not end cancer or improve the economy or bring back lost loves and friendships. Those sufferings are part of the finitude of humankind, they are the human condition. These limitations do, however, challenge us to make a difference — to bind up the broken-hearted, to heal the sick, to give water to the thirsty, to clothe the naked, to give food to the hungry, to visit those in jail. For those of us who know and love God, we are called to change this world to one where God’s mercy and justice — God’s jubilee — break into this otherwise incomplete and shattered world.
By struggling to infuse our world with God’s grace, we continue in the spirit that brought us Jesus who, as God made flesh, showed us God’s love. Jesus, the Alpha and the Omega, the source, the beginning — he, of the father’s love begotten.
We yearn for peace, we yearn for a healed world… and most of all, we yearn for God.
Come, Lord Jesus, come.
Come, fill our hearts.
Come, break down the walls that separate us.
Come, show us God’s love so that we might show it to others.
Come close once again.
Come, Lord Jesus, come.
Advent IIIB
11 December 2011 ['preached' on the internet]
Again, how can a preacher go wrong with this week’s set of readings? Each is a feast unto itself… Isaiah 61, its beginning is one of the selections for the burial office; Psalm 126 is the appointed psalm for the noonday office in our prayer book; First Thessalonians whose opening word, Rejoice, gives us Gaudate Sunday or a portion of the Prologue of the Gospel according to John from which we always read in its entirety on Christmas Day. So even if this sermon focuses on one or two of the readings, take them home with you and ponder them in your heart in the week to come. (Maybe this is why I so love Advent… the readings for Sundays are always so delicious.)
Even though John the Baptist appears in both last and this week’s lectionary — first from Mark and then from John — I am going to focus on the passage from Isaiah with a brief digression into Paul’s First Letter to the Thessalonians.
+
Not only is Isaiah 61 appointed for the burial office but it also is cited in Luke’s gospel account of Jesus’ appearance at the temple where he unrolled the scroll and read from it. The passage unto itself is powerful and evokes equally Mary’s song, the Magnificat, which we will hear next week.
The Hebrew Scripture reading, from the third part of the large book of the prophet Isaiah (otherwise called Third Isaiah), echoes themes of Second Isaiah, that part wherein we hear of the Suffering Servant (most frequently associated with Holy Week). In both parts of Isaiah, the servant is anointed by the spirit for a ministry of mercy in a jubilee year of favour.
Leviticus 25, that portion of the Hebrew Scriptures that focuses so much on the way the people of Israel was to live, describes what a jubilee year looks like: such a year was proclaimed every fifty years for the purpose of having debts canceled, granting general forgiveness, and for recovering lost property. Third Isaiah reiterates these themes in chapter 61 of the book.
In all these activities, the prophet speaks of reversals of fate to those in various states of destitution and deprivation. Earlier readings this Advent from the Hebrew Scriptures have also referred to the afflicted; the difference with today’s text is that now it speaks of a person who will address these problems and take positive action. When the reversals have all taken place, those freed will have a new inner state of hope and joy.
The words of anointing that Isaiah speaks presage the words Jesus will later say at the beginning of his ministry, a ministry that likewise reflects concepts of jubilee. Both Isaiah and Jesus bring good news to the oppressed, bind up the brokenhearted, proclaim liberty to the captives, release to the prisoners, provide comfort to those who mourn, and proclaim the year of the Lord’s favour.
Isaiah moves from seeing his people as brokenhearted and oppressed to those who now are free, now that they have returned to Jerusalem. However, for the people, it will take a long time because they have only known oppression. A lot has happened in the years of exile to break many hearts. ‘They still need liberty proclaimed to their inmost beings. Spiritually and psychologically, they are still prisoners. They are still in mourning, for years lost, a country lost, self-respect lost.
[So] ‘Isaiah walks among the people as he offers these next splendid and beautiful images. [He goes] to one person and say[s], “I want you to have a garland instead of ashes;” to another, “You should feel the oil of gladness instead of mourning”; and yet to another, “Do you know what you need? You need a mantle of praise instead of a faint spirit.” All the time he is speaking he is healing, comforting, encouraging, energizing, coaxing, persuading.… This is the kind of ministry we are called upon to exercise with each other today — a ministry of encouraging and healing each other.’ [1]
Isaiah’s prophecy is not just for long ago; it is for us now. It is you and I who are poor. We suffer broken hearts in those lives and loves and labours that mark our existence. As we receive this prophecy, we recognise our own truths. We too are captive, prisoners of fear, egotism, betrayals, misplaced priorities. As harsh as this list sounds, we know that we don’t have to remain stuck in those hard places. We can return from spiritual exile, too.
Psalm 126 accompanies well the reading from Isaiah because it speaks of this return from exile. The psalm looks to the past and what has taken place and injects a prayer for good fortune in the future. The dry river beds and the dusty gullies of the desert will flow with water again; life will again be abundant; new growth will emerge from that which was considered barren.
We, too, are called to be a people of hope and joy, bringing new life to barren places. We, too, are called to be those change agents in the world, people of jubilee, who will work toward release and liberty of the oppressed and disenfranchised. Each of us can make a difference in our daily lives and we must. We are already jubilee people by virtue of our baptism; now we have to figure out how to make that a reality in our daily life.
And Paul’s First Letter to the Thessalonians gives us some ideas about how to bring hope to those in our midst:
Respect those who work amongst us.
Respect those who labour for God’s sake.
Be at peace amongst one another.
Encourage the faint-hearted.
Help the weak.
Be patient with all.
Seek to do good to one another and to all.
Rejoice always.
Pray without ceasing.
Give thanks in all circumstances.
Hold fast to what is good.
+
The question lies before us today: how does each one of us engage in a ministry of encouraging and healing each other? How do we become a people of hope and joy, bringing new life to barren places, especially right now when things seem to be so hard for so many people? How does each one of us make a difference in our daily lives and those of others?
These are not merely rhetorical questions — they are the essence of what our life as the baptised means. What we do as the baptised, not just in church but also in our daily lives, can have a huge impact on others. Fundamentally, each one of us is called to reconcile the world to God in Christ. Each one of us will find the way to do so. As we find our unique voice, we can bring about healing and restoration for others. At the same time, to preach hope also means that we need to listen carefully to each other.
A caveat, however: it is hard to preach hope if one does not know it. Hope is not the same as optimism, which can often preach a false ‘things will get better.’ The optimist lives by the pretension of being able to control the present. People of faith live with the strength that comes from having a large vision of the God who promises liberation from all that binds and oppresses human beings. Hope in the Christian sense takes into account the real sufferings of the moment and places them into prayer. Hope gives us a broader view, one that always leads us back to God, whose mercy is never-ending. People of hope want to do the will of God the liberator, want to offer light and life to those who live in dark places, want to be a sign of a liberating future in a world that thinks only of the present and its unlimited possibilities for self-serving.
Perhaps that God-given, God-based hope is what a co-worker needs. Perhaps it is what the person in the hospital bed needs. Perhaps it is what the person sitting in the pew next to you needs. Perhaps it is what you need to hear from someone else.
During this Advent, we can begin in our hearts to explore what it means to listen to one another, to speak in clear terms and directly, and to find our own ways of articulating the hope that comes to us in the Christ child. Use the remaining precious time of Advent to pray about how you can find your voice of hope, to whom and how you might share this message of hope.
Like the prophets, we have a message and an action to offer this world… for ‘the Spirit of the Lord is upon us because the Lord has anointed us.’ May God help us to spread that urgent message of hope today, tomorrow and always.
END NOTE
[1] Herbert O’Driscoll, The Word Today, Year B, Volume 1 (Toronto, ONT: Anglican Book Centre, 2001), 23-24.
Again, how can a preacher go wrong with this week’s set of readings? Each is a feast unto itself… Isaiah 61, its beginning is one of the selections for the burial office; Psalm 126 is the appointed psalm for the noonday office in our prayer book; First Thessalonians whose opening word, Rejoice, gives us Gaudate Sunday or a portion of the Prologue of the Gospel according to John from which we always read in its entirety on Christmas Day. So even if this sermon focuses on one or two of the readings, take them home with you and ponder them in your heart in the week to come. (Maybe this is why I so love Advent… the readings for Sundays are always so delicious.)
Even though John the Baptist appears in both last and this week’s lectionary — first from Mark and then from John — I am going to focus on the passage from Isaiah with a brief digression into Paul’s First Letter to the Thessalonians.
+
Not only is Isaiah 61 appointed for the burial office but it also is cited in Luke’s gospel account of Jesus’ appearance at the temple where he unrolled the scroll and read from it. The passage unto itself is powerful and evokes equally Mary’s song, the Magnificat, which we will hear next week.
The Hebrew Scripture reading, from the third part of the large book of the prophet Isaiah (otherwise called Third Isaiah), echoes themes of Second Isaiah, that part wherein we hear of the Suffering Servant (most frequently associated with Holy Week). In both parts of Isaiah, the servant is anointed by the spirit for a ministry of mercy in a jubilee year of favour.
Leviticus 25, that portion of the Hebrew Scriptures that focuses so much on the way the people of Israel was to live, describes what a jubilee year looks like: such a year was proclaimed every fifty years for the purpose of having debts canceled, granting general forgiveness, and for recovering lost property. Third Isaiah reiterates these themes in chapter 61 of the book.
In all these activities, the prophet speaks of reversals of fate to those in various states of destitution and deprivation. Earlier readings this Advent from the Hebrew Scriptures have also referred to the afflicted; the difference with today’s text is that now it speaks of a person who will address these problems and take positive action. When the reversals have all taken place, those freed will have a new inner state of hope and joy.
The words of anointing that Isaiah speaks presage the words Jesus will later say at the beginning of his ministry, a ministry that likewise reflects concepts of jubilee. Both Isaiah and Jesus bring good news to the oppressed, bind up the brokenhearted, proclaim liberty to the captives, release to the prisoners, provide comfort to those who mourn, and proclaim the year of the Lord’s favour.
Isaiah moves from seeing his people as brokenhearted and oppressed to those who now are free, now that they have returned to Jerusalem. However, for the people, it will take a long time because they have only known oppression. A lot has happened in the years of exile to break many hearts. ‘They still need liberty proclaimed to their inmost beings. Spiritually and psychologically, they are still prisoners. They are still in mourning, for years lost, a country lost, self-respect lost.
[So] ‘Isaiah walks among the people as he offers these next splendid and beautiful images. [He goes] to one person and say[s], “I want you to have a garland instead of ashes;” to another, “You should feel the oil of gladness instead of mourning”; and yet to another, “Do you know what you need? You need a mantle of praise instead of a faint spirit.” All the time he is speaking he is healing, comforting, encouraging, energizing, coaxing, persuading.… This is the kind of ministry we are called upon to exercise with each other today — a ministry of encouraging and healing each other.’ [1]
Isaiah’s prophecy is not just for long ago; it is for us now. It is you and I who are poor. We suffer broken hearts in those lives and loves and labours that mark our existence. As we receive this prophecy, we recognise our own truths. We too are captive, prisoners of fear, egotism, betrayals, misplaced priorities. As harsh as this list sounds, we know that we don’t have to remain stuck in those hard places. We can return from spiritual exile, too.
Psalm 126 accompanies well the reading from Isaiah because it speaks of this return from exile. The psalm looks to the past and what has taken place and injects a prayer for good fortune in the future. The dry river beds and the dusty gullies of the desert will flow with water again; life will again be abundant; new growth will emerge from that which was considered barren.
We, too, are called to be a people of hope and joy, bringing new life to barren places. We, too, are called to be those change agents in the world, people of jubilee, who will work toward release and liberty of the oppressed and disenfranchised. Each of us can make a difference in our daily lives and we must. We are already jubilee people by virtue of our baptism; now we have to figure out how to make that a reality in our daily life.
And Paul’s First Letter to the Thessalonians gives us some ideas about how to bring hope to those in our midst:
Respect those who work amongst us.
Respect those who labour for God’s sake.
Be at peace amongst one another.
Encourage the faint-hearted.
Help the weak.
Be patient with all.
Seek to do good to one another and to all.
Rejoice always.
Pray without ceasing.
Give thanks in all circumstances.
Hold fast to what is good.
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The question lies before us today: how does each one of us engage in a ministry of encouraging and healing each other? How do we become a people of hope and joy, bringing new life to barren places, especially right now when things seem to be so hard for so many people? How does each one of us make a difference in our daily lives and those of others?
These are not merely rhetorical questions — they are the essence of what our life as the baptised means. What we do as the baptised, not just in church but also in our daily lives, can have a huge impact on others. Fundamentally, each one of us is called to reconcile the world to God in Christ. Each one of us will find the way to do so. As we find our unique voice, we can bring about healing and restoration for others. At the same time, to preach hope also means that we need to listen carefully to each other.
A caveat, however: it is hard to preach hope if one does not know it. Hope is not the same as optimism, which can often preach a false ‘things will get better.’ The optimist lives by the pretension of being able to control the present. People of faith live with the strength that comes from having a large vision of the God who promises liberation from all that binds and oppresses human beings. Hope in the Christian sense takes into account the real sufferings of the moment and places them into prayer. Hope gives us a broader view, one that always leads us back to God, whose mercy is never-ending. People of hope want to do the will of God the liberator, want to offer light and life to those who live in dark places, want to be a sign of a liberating future in a world that thinks only of the present and its unlimited possibilities for self-serving.
Perhaps that God-given, God-based hope is what a co-worker needs. Perhaps it is what the person in the hospital bed needs. Perhaps it is what the person sitting in the pew next to you needs. Perhaps it is what you need to hear from someone else.
During this Advent, we can begin in our hearts to explore what it means to listen to one another, to speak in clear terms and directly, and to find our own ways of articulating the hope that comes to us in the Christ child. Use the remaining precious time of Advent to pray about how you can find your voice of hope, to whom and how you might share this message of hope.
Like the prophets, we have a message and an action to offer this world… for ‘the Spirit of the Lord is upon us because the Lord has anointed us.’ May God help us to spread that urgent message of hope today, tomorrow and always.
END NOTE
[1] Herbert O’Driscoll, The Word Today, Year B, Volume 1 (Toronto, ONT: Anglican Book Centre, 2001), 23-24.
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