Notes for a sermon on The Feast of Saint Michael and All Angels
September 28, 2006 5:45 p.m., Trinity Cathedral Sacramento
Genesis 28:10-17, Psalm 103 or 103:19-22, Revelation 12:7-12, John 1:47-51
GENESIS: Jacob’s ladder represents a thin place – a boundary point between the material world and the world of the spirit. Indeed, Jacob declares the place of his dreamtime a sacred site: “none other than the house of God, and the gate of heaven”.
Angels – God’s messengers – ascend and descend upon the ladder, bridging heaven and earth. Angels who are aligned with God’s purposes are his messengers.
But like other created things, angels can be good and fallen and redeemed. Angels may also be described as principalities and powers – the spirits of institutions and of peoples. They are “the powers that be” (as Walter Wink calls them) – made by God, called by God to a purpose. The spirit of a nation is made for good, but it may turn away; many first century Christians and Jews experienced the empire of Rome as demonic.
REVELATION: Michael overthrows the adversary – the angels that are obedient to God’s call confront the angels that have misaligned themselves apart from God’s purpose. They are defeated; there is no strength in them. Eventually God will put all powers in subjection under his Christ, will rightly align them in harmony with Christ.
GOSPEL: As Jesus tells Nathanael, the guile-less true son of Israel (Jacob), the Son of Man himself forms the bridge – the thin place, the boundary point -- where the sacred and the ordinary coincide. Christ accomplishes this through the victory of the Cross: through his obedience, and through his sacrifice. And we encounter him; we will know him, in the breaking of the bread.
“The small round piece of Eucharistic bread is the point from which the whole creation emerges….‘The fires at the center of the earth, the sun above, all the divine essences and ecstasies come to this silence at last – a circle of bread, and a cup of wine on an altar.’
When we look at the bread of the Eucharist we are looking at the point of ‘everything that is made’ – God embracing everything that God has made.”
On this still, small, point is the turning of the world: created, redeemed, and made holy by God.
As we prepare to remember our Lord in the breaking of the bread, may the better angels of our nature, summon us to gather as God’s people, called together for his purpose. AMEN.
__________________
Walter Wink, The Powers That Be (Doubleday, 1998)
Donald Nicholl, The Testing of Hearts (Darton, Longman & Todd, 1998)
Timothy J. Joyce, Celtic Christianity (Orbis, 1998)
Abraham Lincoln’s First Inaugural Address
Thursday, September 28, 2006
Sunday, September 24, 2006
downward mobility
Jesus and his disciples went on from there and passed through Galilee. He did not want anyone to know it; for he was teaching his disciples, saying to them, "The Son of Man is to be betrayed into human hands, and they will kill him, and three days after being killed, he will rise again." But they did not understand what he was saying and were afraid to ask him. Then they came to Capernaum; and when he was in the house he asked them, "What were you arguing about on the way?" But they were silent, for on the way they had argued with one another who was the greatest. He sat down, called the twelve, and said to them, "Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all." Then he took a little child and put it among them; and taking it in his arms, he said to them, "Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me." (Mark 9:30-37)
On this journey Jesus tries to hide from public view and avoid publicity. He is trying to teach his disciples something difficult, something mysterious.
For the second of three times, as they travel together, he teaches the disciples that he – the Son of Man, the Messiah, the holy one of Israel – must be betrayed, and suffer, must be killed, and rise again.
The disciples don’t get it. Instead, they argue among themselves who is the greatest.
Jesus teaches the need for humble service.
Whoever would be first must be last,
Whoever would be greatest must be least.
Whoever would find himself must lose himself, deny himself, become lost.
Jesus teaches by paradox – there is no worldly purpose to what he is saying.
Whoever receives one such child, receives me,
Whoever receives me, receives not me but the one who sent me.
Can those who are last have a deeper relationship with Jesus, who made himself last by accepting the Cross?
Indeed, Jesus himself – the Messiah, the holy one of God – has cast aside worldly greatness. In an upwardly mobile world, he seeks
DOWNWARD MOBILITY
For he did not clutch to himself equality with God but humbled himself and became human, became one of us, taking the form even of a servant. And he has promised us that where we have visited the sick, fed the hungry, visited the prisoner – the last, the least, the lost – there we have found him.
Receive as Christ “the last, the least, the lost” (Dean Baker’s phrase).
In the brokenness of humanity we meet him. In the brokenness of others, however unlovely, there we find him. And we find him – and he finds us – in our own most unlovely, broken places. There he is, in the midst of us: his body, broken for us, his blood, shed for us, his life, given for us.
Welcoming the discarded child within yourself is also welcoming Christ.
The child you receive may be the Christ Child.
The Christ child receives you.
Where were you? We ask God: in the midst, hungry, naked, oppressed, poor, in mourning, in Eucharist, in celebration, in the hope of the resurrection.
In assurance of eternal life given at Baptism, let us proclaim our faith and say,
We believe in God...
Lord Jesus Christ, we commend to you Richard Yale’s father, our brother Ted, who was reborn by water and the Spirit in Holy Baptism. Grant that his death may recall to us your victory over death, and be an occasion for us to renew our trust in your Father’s love. Give us, we pray, the faith to follow where you have led the way; and where you live and reign with the Father and the Holy Spirit, to the ages of ages. Amen.
May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace, as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit. (Romans 15:13) And may the blessing of God Almighty, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, be upon you and remain with you always. Amen.
On this journey Jesus tries to hide from public view and avoid publicity. He is trying to teach his disciples something difficult, something mysterious.
For the second of three times, as they travel together, he teaches the disciples that he – the Son of Man, the Messiah, the holy one of Israel – must be betrayed, and suffer, must be killed, and rise again.
The disciples don’t get it. Instead, they argue among themselves who is the greatest.
Jesus teaches the need for humble service.
Whoever would be first must be last,
Whoever would be greatest must be least.
Whoever would find himself must lose himself, deny himself, become lost.
Jesus teaches by paradox – there is no worldly purpose to what he is saying.
Whoever receives one such child, receives me,
Whoever receives me, receives not me but the one who sent me.
Can those who are last have a deeper relationship with Jesus, who made himself last by accepting the Cross?
Indeed, Jesus himself – the Messiah, the holy one of God – has cast aside worldly greatness. In an upwardly mobile world, he seeks
DOWNWARD MOBILITY
For he did not clutch to himself equality with God but humbled himself and became human, became one of us, taking the form even of a servant. And he has promised us that where we have visited the sick, fed the hungry, visited the prisoner – the last, the least, the lost – there we have found him.
Receive as Christ “the last, the least, the lost” (Dean Baker’s phrase).
In the brokenness of humanity we meet him. In the brokenness of others, however unlovely, there we find him. And we find him – and he finds us – in our own most unlovely, broken places. There he is, in the midst of us: his body, broken for us, his blood, shed for us, his life, given for us.
Welcoming the discarded child within yourself is also welcoming Christ.
The child you receive may be the Christ Child.
The Christ child receives you.
Where were you? We ask God: in the midst, hungry, naked, oppressed, poor, in mourning, in Eucharist, in celebration, in the hope of the resurrection.
In assurance of eternal life given at Baptism, let us proclaim our faith and say,
We believe in God...
Lord Jesus Christ, we commend to you Richard Yale’s father, our brother Ted, who was reborn by water and the Spirit in Holy Baptism. Grant that his death may recall to us your victory over death, and be an occasion for us to renew our trust in your Father’s love. Give us, we pray, the faith to follow where you have led the way; and where you live and reign with the Father and the Holy Spirit, to the ages of ages. Amen.
May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace, as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit. (Romans 15:13) And may the blessing of God Almighty, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, be upon you and remain with you always. Amen.
Sunday, May 14, 2006
Have you ever felt pruned?
In the name of God, source of all being, eternal word and Holy Spirit. Amen.
Jesus is the true vine and we are the branches. We connect to life in God through Christ.
When I went to visit my mother yesterday, I drove across the Napa Valley to Sonoma and up the Valley of the Moon. I saw a lot of vines. I saw chardonnay, cabernet, and viognier. I saw head-trimmed vines and trellised vines. And all the vines I saw were healthy, and green, and growing. Every living branch of them has been pruned, and is being pruned, again and again this growing season. And every branch was abiding in the vine, living in the vine, from which they drew their nourishment, their strength and their sweetness.
Later in the summer the vineyard workers will come through again and remove immature bunches of grapes, thinning down and focusing the energy of the branches, so that the fruit they bear in due season will be as strong and sweet as it can be.
Like the branches you and I have been pruned. As Jesus told his disciples at the Last Supper, we have been pruned, cleansed – it’s the same root word in Greek – by the word he has spoken to us. The vinedresser has tended the branches of the vine. Now is our time to grow. We are preparing to bear fruit. And while we are growing and preparing, and soaking in the water and sun and each day’s nourishment, we stay connected to the vine. That’s Jesus. We connect to the life of God, to eternal life, through Christ.
We stay connected to the vine, and receive nourishment, power and love and strength from God, by a variety of means. We read the Bible. We pray. We take part in the sacraments: we are baptized, confirmed, married, ordained, anointed, reconciled; we take our places at the Lord’s Table. And we serve.
Canon Carey pointed out to me that our service booklet now ends with a new sentence. NOW THAT THE WORSHIP IS OVER, OUR CHRISTIAN SERVICE TO THE WORLD BEGINS.
Over the gateway of Poly High in Long Beach is a similar motto: Enter to learn, go forth to serve. That is very like what we are encouraged to do on Sunday morning. We learn. We study the Word of God. The Word refreshes us, and we go forth in the Spirit to love and serve the Lord. And we serve the Lord in one another, and in the stranger.
One of my teachers at college used to do something astonishing. He didn’t tell me about it but I found out about it. He took Christ at his word. When Jesus said, “you visited me in prison,” that struck home for Donald. To seek and serve Christ in this world, he used to get in his car after Mass and drive down to Soledad Prison to visit with the inmates. And so he taught me, unknowingly, that if we want to find out what Jesus looked like, if we want to see him today, we should look for him in the faces of those we serve.
Scriptures, prayer, sacraments, fellowship, service. These are ways we connect to the divine life – through Christ. Another way is pilgrimage.
A few weeks ago I began to look for connections in my own life. I began to look for reference points, to visit holy places, and to seek out people with whom I need to touch base as I begin to interview for priesthood and for my first employment as a priest.
In a way it became a pilgrimage. I wanted to review where I was in my life and remind myself of who I am and how I got to this place. It raised the question, how do I stay connected?
Amy Dierlam raised the question in its first form. During a meeting of the 20s/30s group at the 10 o’clock hour, she started the discussion by asking of each us, where do you feel most at home? I began to smile. I was remembering the afternoon I spent in a hammock on the back porch of a house in Tucson last January. [Friends from Tucson asked me the same question not long ago – and, while I grew up among the redwood, the live oak, and the madrone, there are times when I close my eyes that I see saguaros.] So when I went back to Arizona just week before last, of course I was feeling at home. But that’s not all.
From Arizona I went on retreat to New Camaldoli Hermitage in Big Sur. I have been going there since college, whenever there is a significant turning point in my life. And so I went to the monastery. I sat in the chapel, contemplating the altar and the crucifix suspended above it. And I felt at home. But that’s not all.
From the monastery I visited old friends, including another college professor – who has been praying for me for 32 years – and received their encouragement. Then I came back to Sacramento. And I definitely felt at home again.
And I felt at home when I visited my mother yesterday. (It’s not too late to call or write!) But that’s not all.
I came here. And here is the connection, not only the connection to home for me, but to home for all of us. The connection to God that happened for me touching base with people and places across the Southwest and California can also happen right here. At the Lord’s Table we are united with Christ and in Christ with one another. Here at the Lord’s Table we all connect with life from God through Christ. All the branches connect with the one true vine – Jesus is here among us. And we are all welcome at the Lord’s Table. Amen.
Fifth Sunday of Easter Year B RCL
Acts 8:26-40 Psalm 22:24-30 1 John 4:7-21 John 15:1-8
Trinity Cathedral, Sacramento & Pioneer House, Sacramento May 14, 2006
Jesus is the true vine and we are the branches. We connect to life in God through Christ.
When I went to visit my mother yesterday, I drove across the Napa Valley to Sonoma and up the Valley of the Moon. I saw a lot of vines. I saw chardonnay, cabernet, and viognier. I saw head-trimmed vines and trellised vines. And all the vines I saw were healthy, and green, and growing. Every living branch of them has been pruned, and is being pruned, again and again this growing season. And every branch was abiding in the vine, living in the vine, from which they drew their nourishment, their strength and their sweetness.
Later in the summer the vineyard workers will come through again and remove immature bunches of grapes, thinning down and focusing the energy of the branches, so that the fruit they bear in due season will be as strong and sweet as it can be.
Like the branches you and I have been pruned. As Jesus told his disciples at the Last Supper, we have been pruned, cleansed – it’s the same root word in Greek – by the word he has spoken to us. The vinedresser has tended the branches of the vine. Now is our time to grow. We are preparing to bear fruit. And while we are growing and preparing, and soaking in the water and sun and each day’s nourishment, we stay connected to the vine. That’s Jesus. We connect to the life of God, to eternal life, through Christ.
We stay connected to the vine, and receive nourishment, power and love and strength from God, by a variety of means. We read the Bible. We pray. We take part in the sacraments: we are baptized, confirmed, married, ordained, anointed, reconciled; we take our places at the Lord’s Table. And we serve.
Canon Carey pointed out to me that our service booklet now ends with a new sentence. NOW THAT THE WORSHIP IS OVER, OUR CHRISTIAN SERVICE TO THE WORLD BEGINS.
Over the gateway of Poly High in Long Beach is a similar motto: Enter to learn, go forth to serve. That is very like what we are encouraged to do on Sunday morning. We learn. We study the Word of God. The Word refreshes us, and we go forth in the Spirit to love and serve the Lord. And we serve the Lord in one another, and in the stranger.
One of my teachers at college used to do something astonishing. He didn’t tell me about it but I found out about it. He took Christ at his word. When Jesus said, “you visited me in prison,” that struck home for Donald. To seek and serve Christ in this world, he used to get in his car after Mass and drive down to Soledad Prison to visit with the inmates. And so he taught me, unknowingly, that if we want to find out what Jesus looked like, if we want to see him today, we should look for him in the faces of those we serve.
Scriptures, prayer, sacraments, fellowship, service. These are ways we connect to the divine life – through Christ. Another way is pilgrimage.
A few weeks ago I began to look for connections in my own life. I began to look for reference points, to visit holy places, and to seek out people with whom I need to touch base as I begin to interview for priesthood and for my first employment as a priest.
In a way it became a pilgrimage. I wanted to review where I was in my life and remind myself of who I am and how I got to this place. It raised the question, how do I stay connected?
Amy Dierlam raised the question in its first form. During a meeting of the 20s/30s group at the 10 o’clock hour, she started the discussion by asking of each us, where do you feel most at home? I began to smile. I was remembering the afternoon I spent in a hammock on the back porch of a house in Tucson last January. [Friends from Tucson asked me the same question not long ago – and, while I grew up among the redwood, the live oak, and the madrone, there are times when I close my eyes that I see saguaros.] So when I went back to Arizona just week before last, of course I was feeling at home. But that’s not all.
From Arizona I went on retreat to New Camaldoli Hermitage in Big Sur. I have been going there since college, whenever there is a significant turning point in my life. And so I went to the monastery. I sat in the chapel, contemplating the altar and the crucifix suspended above it. And I felt at home. But that’s not all.
From the monastery I visited old friends, including another college professor – who has been praying for me for 32 years – and received their encouragement. Then I came back to Sacramento. And I definitely felt at home again.
And I felt at home when I visited my mother yesterday. (It’s not too late to call or write!) But that’s not all.
I came here. And here is the connection, not only the connection to home for me, but to home for all of us. The connection to God that happened for me touching base with people and places across the Southwest and California can also happen right here. At the Lord’s Table we are united with Christ and in Christ with one another. Here at the Lord’s Table we all connect with life from God through Christ. All the branches connect with the one true vine – Jesus is here among us. And we are all welcome at the Lord’s Table. Amen.
Fifth Sunday of Easter Year B RCL
Acts 8:26-40 Psalm 22:24-30 1 John 4:7-21 John 15:1-8
Trinity Cathedral, Sacramento & Pioneer House, Sacramento May 14, 2006
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
Mary Magdalene stood weeping outside the tomb. . .
Mary Magdalene stood weeping outside the tomb. As she wept, she bent over to look into the tomb; and she saw two angels in white, sitting where the body of Jesus had been lying, one at the head and the other at the feet. They said to her, "Woman, why are you weeping?" She said to them, "They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him." When she had said this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not know that it was Jesus. Jesus said to her, "Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you looking for?" Supposing him to be the gardener, she said to him, "Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away." Jesus said to her, "Mary!" She turned and said to him in Hebrew, "Rabbouni!" (which means Teacher). Jesus said to her, "Do not hold on to me, because I have not yet ascended to the Father. But go to my brothers and say to them, `I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.'" Mary Magdalene went and announced to the disciples, "I have seen the Lord"; and she told them that he had said these things to her.
The festival is over. Families are packing up and starting off for home – the long trek to Galilee Jesus made with his parents year after year. Now he is gone. Only a few remain behind – those who knew him, and hoped for the Messiah. Now on the first day of the week, Mary has gone to the tomb. He is not there. She tells Peter and the other disciple, who run to the tomb to see for themselves. There is no one there. They go home. Mary stays behind – what more can she do?
She happens – or is stirred to – look in. Where he had laid, where his head and his feet should have been, now instead there are two figures in white. Why are you crying? She thinks the body has been taken away – she wants to give it proper respect, one last gift she can give her teacher. But there in the dawn is a man – the gardener? He asks, Why are you crying? I am looking for my Lord…
Mary!
Teacher! She embraces his feet…
Do not be holding me now –
It is almost time for rejoicing.
It is almost time he is glorified.
But first, Mary, I do have a job for you. Tell the rest of my students – tell the rest of my family – I am going up to my Father and yours, my God and yours.
Through Christ, God is our father. Through Christ, we are now brothers and sisters one to another. We are now in Christ one family.
I am sometimes asked, why can’t we all just get along? Why did the Catholics and Episcopalians hate each other in Ireland? Aren’t they both Christians? Well, yes…
An innocent question, but it is the vision:
Like sheep called by their shepherd, all of us will one day jostle into the same pen, the same Shepherd watching over all of us, knowing us each by name.
Like Ruth, your God will be my God; your people will be my people.
Maybe it’s time we starting acting like it.
Certainly it’s time we start celebrating it.
Amen.
Tuesday in Easter Week 2006
Acts 2:36-41
Psalm 33:18-22 or 118:19-24
John 20:11-18
Trinity Cathedral Sacramento
The festival is over. Families are packing up and starting off for home – the long trek to Galilee Jesus made with his parents year after year. Now he is gone. Only a few remain behind – those who knew him, and hoped for the Messiah. Now on the first day of the week, Mary has gone to the tomb. He is not there. She tells Peter and the other disciple, who run to the tomb to see for themselves. There is no one there. They go home. Mary stays behind – what more can she do?
She happens – or is stirred to – look in. Where he had laid, where his head and his feet should have been, now instead there are two figures in white. Why are you crying? She thinks the body has been taken away – she wants to give it proper respect, one last gift she can give her teacher. But there in the dawn is a man – the gardener? He asks, Why are you crying? I am looking for my Lord…
Mary!
Teacher! She embraces his feet…
Do not be holding me now –
It is almost time for rejoicing.
It is almost time he is glorified.
But first, Mary, I do have a job for you. Tell the rest of my students – tell the rest of my family – I am going up to my Father and yours, my God and yours.
Through Christ, God is our father. Through Christ, we are now brothers and sisters one to another. We are now in Christ one family.
I am sometimes asked, why can’t we all just get along? Why did the Catholics and Episcopalians hate each other in Ireland? Aren’t they both Christians? Well, yes…
An innocent question, but it is the vision:
Like sheep called by their shepherd, all of us will one day jostle into the same pen, the same Shepherd watching over all of us, knowing us each by name.
Like Ruth, your God will be my God; your people will be my people.
Maybe it’s time we starting acting like it.
Certainly it’s time we start celebrating it.
Amen.
Tuesday in Easter Week 2006
Acts 2:36-41
Psalm 33:18-22 or 118:19-24
John 20:11-18
Trinity Cathedral Sacramento
Sunday, March 12, 2006
The Binding of Isaac
In the name of God, source of all being, eternal Word and Holy Spirit. Amen.
Some Muslim friends once invited me to join them in celebrations of the feast of Eid al-Adha, the commemoration of God’s providing the Ram to Abraham as a substitute for his son. I remember watching the sheikh take hold of the lamb, who was indeed as innocent and passive as a lamb led to the slaughter, explaining that he was not slaughtering but sacrificing the animal, then quickly, deftly and quietly cutting its throat. The lamb just as quietly and quickly passed away. He repeated this act with a few more lambs, which various members of the group had dedicated, and then let the rest go.
I remember how happy I was to watch the survivors gambol back up into their pasture. And I remember as I watched their brothers being slain, thinking two thoughts: How glad I was that we do not have to do this, and, Behold the Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world.
Listening to the reading from Genesis, we may wonder: what was Abraham thinking? Where did he get the idea that he should sacrifice his son? That God would want that? What kind of a god would ask this? What kind of a father would think to do it?
The surrounding cultures, as I understand it, worshipped gods who did indeed require human sacrifice – just as much as the god of the Aztecs did. The cult of Moloch demanded the burnt offering of the firstborn son. Somehow Abraham got into his head the idea that this may be required even of him – that the God who has led him to the promised land, has given him his son, has promised him uncounted progeny – that somehow this is the same god.
All the way up the mountain, Abraham kept faith with God. Believing in the promise he somehow continued to expect the impossible. He laid the firewood on Isaac’s back – like requiring a man to carry his own cross – saying, “God himself will provide the lamb.”
Not knowing what would happen, in the fear of God he bound his son, and took up the knife. The angel stayed Abraham’s hand, and showed him the ram in the thicket. I think there is more going on here than the substitution of a sheep for a man.
God did not require the death of Isaac. He required his life – that is, that Isaac and all the future and the hope that he represents, belongs to God, not Abraham. This life is not a life to be grasped onto but to be freely accepted as a gift from the willing hand of God.
Abraham responds to God’s call in faith, in obedience, yielding all claim to ownership to what is most precious to him – the promise, the future and the hope embodied in Isaac – and he dedicates that beloved Child to God, to God’s purpose, not his own – and it is through the efficacy of this obedience, this act of faith, that Abraham becomes the father of nations – not through heredity but through faith in the love of God. And it is this faith that gives him descendants innumerable. “I will shower blessings on you, I will make your descendants as many as the stars of heaven and the grains of sand on the seashore.” (Genesis 22.17)
Abraham chose obedience. Through his radical obedience, Abraham became the father of our faith, the exemplar of total trust in God.
What he was required to yield up, that which was most precious to him, what had to be relinquished to God when God required it, was Isaac’s life – not his death, but his life. The future and the hope that Isaac represented were not for Abraham to own and to master, but for him to trust in God to provide, just as he provided the ram in the thicket on the mount that came to be called, “God provides”.
When he set his face toward Jerusalem, Jesus began to teach his disciples that the Son of Man must undergo great suffering, be rejected, and be killed, and after three days rise again. Jesus chose obedience – he lay his own life down, that very life that was to become the first fruits of the resurrection. Life is not to be grasped to oneself, but to be freely offered in obedience to God. Jesus did not give just his death to God; he gave his life – a life of integrity, of witness, of proclamation. He took up his cross rather than live a life of self-protection.
Jesus kept faith with God, proclaiming in word and deed the reign of God’s love, of justice, peace, and forgiveness. He embodied the fullness and image of God’s compassion and love for humankind. Just as Abraham traveled to a distant land ready to sacrifice his beloved son, so Jesus, knowing full well that it might cost his life, traveled up to Jerusalem to give witness to the reign of God.
[He took up his cross rather than living a life of self-protection. We participate in the life of Christ, in the proclamation of the kingdom. We receive the life he continues to give to us. By his life we live. His life makes it possible for us to live faithfully, in radical obedience to God, with a future and a hope. To live in faith is costly; God asks a lot of us. Life is full of frightening and painful and hard things. We have this consolation, that Jesus went through this already and goes through this with us –we are not alone, and death is not the end of the story. No place we are ever asked to go – no height nor depth, no hardship or distress, no persecution or famine, no epidemic, no war - can take us away from the love of God. He has been there already. He is there with us. And he will bring us through to the other side. No other thing is required. God’s mercy is full and complete. He takes us from the broken places to wholeness, from the darkness into light; we were lost and are found.]
Grace is costly, but the price has been paid in full by God himself.
On the cross he made, by his one offering of himself, a full, perfect, and sufficient sacrifice, once for all.
For God so loved the world that he gave his only-begotten Son that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life.
A sermon for St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Sacramento
March 12, 2006
Second Sunday in Lent (Year B) BCP Lectionary Readings:
Genesis 22:1-14, Psalm 16:5-11, Romans 8:31-39, Mark 8:31-38
[Section in brackets was presented at 8am but not 10am service.]
Sources and inspirations:
William Blake, “Mock on, mock on, Voltaire, Rousseau”
John Bowker, ed., “The Sacrifice of Isaac”, The Complete Bible Handbook (Dorling Kindersley, 1998), p. 39.
Barbara Crafton, “The Lesson We Have to Preach On”, The Almost Daily eMo from GeraniumFarm.org, March 9, 2006 (www.geraniumfarm.org)
The Jerusalem Bible, Reader’s Edition (Doubleday, 1968)
The Jewish Study Bible (Oxford University Press, 2004)
Søren Kierkegaard, “Eulogy on Abraham”, Fear and Trembling (1843), Edited and translated by Howard V. Hong and Edna H. Hong (Princeton University Press, 1983) p. 15-23. (See selection from another translation at http://www.columbia.edu/cu/augustine/arch/kierkegaard.html)
Sarah C. Leech
Jude Siciliano, O.P., “First Impressions” (http://www.opsouth.org/Preachers%20Exchange/firstimpresscurrent.html)
Hugh Talat Halman, “Id al-Adha”, World Book Encyclopedia (2004)
Some Muslim friends once invited me to join them in celebrations of the feast of Eid al-Adha, the commemoration of God’s providing the Ram to Abraham as a substitute for his son. I remember watching the sheikh take hold of the lamb, who was indeed as innocent and passive as a lamb led to the slaughter, explaining that he was not slaughtering but sacrificing the animal, then quickly, deftly and quietly cutting its throat. The lamb just as quietly and quickly passed away. He repeated this act with a few more lambs, which various members of the group had dedicated, and then let the rest go.
I remember how happy I was to watch the survivors gambol back up into their pasture. And I remember as I watched their brothers being slain, thinking two thoughts: How glad I was that we do not have to do this, and, Behold the Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world.
Listening to the reading from Genesis, we may wonder: what was Abraham thinking? Where did he get the idea that he should sacrifice his son? That God would want that? What kind of a god would ask this? What kind of a father would think to do it?
The surrounding cultures, as I understand it, worshipped gods who did indeed require human sacrifice – just as much as the god of the Aztecs did. The cult of Moloch demanded the burnt offering of the firstborn son. Somehow Abraham got into his head the idea that this may be required even of him – that the God who has led him to the promised land, has given him his son, has promised him uncounted progeny – that somehow this is the same god.
All the way up the mountain, Abraham kept faith with God. Believing in the promise he somehow continued to expect the impossible. He laid the firewood on Isaac’s back – like requiring a man to carry his own cross – saying, “God himself will provide the lamb.”
Not knowing what would happen, in the fear of God he bound his son, and took up the knife. The angel stayed Abraham’s hand, and showed him the ram in the thicket. I think there is more going on here than the substitution of a sheep for a man.
God did not require the death of Isaac. He required his life – that is, that Isaac and all the future and the hope that he represents, belongs to God, not Abraham. This life is not a life to be grasped onto but to be freely accepted as a gift from the willing hand of God.
Abraham responds to God’s call in faith, in obedience, yielding all claim to ownership to what is most precious to him – the promise, the future and the hope embodied in Isaac – and he dedicates that beloved Child to God, to God’s purpose, not his own – and it is through the efficacy of this obedience, this act of faith, that Abraham becomes the father of nations – not through heredity but through faith in the love of God. And it is this faith that gives him descendants innumerable. “I will shower blessings on you, I will make your descendants as many as the stars of heaven and the grains of sand on the seashore.” (Genesis 22.17)
Abraham chose obedience. Through his radical obedience, Abraham became the father of our faith, the exemplar of total trust in God.
What he was required to yield up, that which was most precious to him, what had to be relinquished to God when God required it, was Isaac’s life – not his death, but his life. The future and the hope that Isaac represented were not for Abraham to own and to master, but for him to trust in God to provide, just as he provided the ram in the thicket on the mount that came to be called, “God provides”.
When he set his face toward Jerusalem, Jesus began to teach his disciples that the Son of Man must undergo great suffering, be rejected, and be killed, and after three days rise again. Jesus chose obedience – he lay his own life down, that very life that was to become the first fruits of the resurrection. Life is not to be grasped to oneself, but to be freely offered in obedience to God. Jesus did not give just his death to God; he gave his life – a life of integrity, of witness, of proclamation. He took up his cross rather than live a life of self-protection.
Jesus kept faith with God, proclaiming in word and deed the reign of God’s love, of justice, peace, and forgiveness. He embodied the fullness and image of God’s compassion and love for humankind. Just as Abraham traveled to a distant land ready to sacrifice his beloved son, so Jesus, knowing full well that it might cost his life, traveled up to Jerusalem to give witness to the reign of God.
[He took up his cross rather than living a life of self-protection. We participate in the life of Christ, in the proclamation of the kingdom. We receive the life he continues to give to us. By his life we live. His life makes it possible for us to live faithfully, in radical obedience to God, with a future and a hope. To live in faith is costly; God asks a lot of us. Life is full of frightening and painful and hard things. We have this consolation, that Jesus went through this already and goes through this with us –we are not alone, and death is not the end of the story. No place we are ever asked to go – no height nor depth, no hardship or distress, no persecution or famine, no epidemic, no war - can take us away from the love of God. He has been there already. He is there with us. And he will bring us through to the other side. No other thing is required. God’s mercy is full and complete. He takes us from the broken places to wholeness, from the darkness into light; we were lost and are found.]
Grace is costly, but the price has been paid in full by God himself.
On the cross he made, by his one offering of himself, a full, perfect, and sufficient sacrifice, once for all.
For God so loved the world that he gave his only-begotten Son that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life.
A sermon for St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Sacramento
March 12, 2006
Second Sunday in Lent (Year B) BCP Lectionary Readings:
Genesis 22:1-14, Psalm 16:5-11, Romans 8:31-39, Mark 8:31-38
[Section in brackets was presented at 8am but not 10am service.]
Sources and inspirations:
William Blake, “Mock on, mock on, Voltaire, Rousseau”
John Bowker, ed., “The Sacrifice of Isaac”, The Complete Bible Handbook (Dorling Kindersley, 1998), p. 39.
Barbara Crafton, “The Lesson We Have to Preach On”, The Almost Daily eMo from GeraniumFarm.org, March 9, 2006 (www.geraniumfarm.org)
The Jerusalem Bible, Reader’s Edition (Doubleday, 1968)
The Jewish Study Bible (Oxford University Press, 2004)
Søren Kierkegaard, “Eulogy on Abraham”, Fear and Trembling (1843), Edited and translated by Howard V. Hong and Edna H. Hong (Princeton University Press, 1983) p. 15-23. (See selection from another translation at http://www.columbia.edu/cu/augustine/arch/kierkegaard.html)
Sarah C. Leech
Jude Siciliano, O.P., “First Impressions” (http://www.opsouth.org/Preachers%20Exchange/firstimpresscurrent.html)
Hugh Talat Halman, “Id al-Adha”, World Book Encyclopedia (2004)
Sunday, January 29, 2006
Come, thou long expected Jesus
Hear again the good news in the words of our Lord Jesus Christ:
"The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near; repent, and believe in the good news."
In the name of God, of mercy, compassion, and justice, of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
If you know the story of “The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe”, you have heard of a kingdom called Narnia, that suffered under a false monarch and longed for its true one. Under the White Witch, it was “always winter and never Christmas”.
When the true king returned, he restored the land to life. He breathed the breath of life on the frozen, and they were miraculously warmed.
He broke the bonds of winter, and spring began.
This is how, in the land of Narnia, the arrival of the true kingdom revealed itself.
Now when Jesus began his ministry he proclaimed the good news, and he enacted it.
He arrived without trumpets or fireworks. He began with a prophetic act of liberating compassion. He freed a man with an unclean spirit. “Be silent, and come out of him.”
From the beginning, through his words and deeds, Jesus proclaimed the kingdom of heaven. He taught and acted with the authority of a prophet, like Moses. He showed, through what he said and what he did, what the kingdom of heaven is like.
As Jesus showed us, our God is a God who is with us. He brings us mercy and compassion; he is our advocate for justice and our source of freedom.
God is present in the liberating words and deeds of prophetic compassion.
By his acts, beginning with freeing the man with the unclean spirit, Jesus enacted the liberation of his people from the powers of this world. He showed that the forces that bound us, from psychological forces to the oppression of the emperor, were swept away.
And he showed us that the true kingdom, -- the only true kingdom, the reign of God, -- is of a God of mercy, compassion, and justice.
The kingdom of heaven breaks in on us like spring through winter, like day through night.
The question for each of us is:
How will you announce the arrival of the kingdom? How will you show through word and deed that the kingdom of heaven is at hand?
We begin by living it – by living in the kingdom of heaven first, giving our first allegiance, not to any principality or power of this world, but to the liberating, compassionate, merciful and just reign of God.
Now, what is required of thee, but to do justice, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with thy God?
Amen.
Sermon on Mark 1:21-28 for Sunday, January 29, 2006 JRL
"The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near; repent, and believe in the good news."
In the name of God, of mercy, compassion, and justice, of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
If you know the story of “The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe”, you have heard of a kingdom called Narnia, that suffered under a false monarch and longed for its true one. Under the White Witch, it was “always winter and never Christmas”.
When the true king returned, he restored the land to life. He breathed the breath of life on the frozen, and they were miraculously warmed.
He broke the bonds of winter, and spring began.
This is how, in the land of Narnia, the arrival of the true kingdom revealed itself.
Now when Jesus began his ministry he proclaimed the good news, and he enacted it.
He arrived without trumpets or fireworks. He began with a prophetic act of liberating compassion. He freed a man with an unclean spirit. “Be silent, and come out of him.”
From the beginning, through his words and deeds, Jesus proclaimed the kingdom of heaven. He taught and acted with the authority of a prophet, like Moses. He showed, through what he said and what he did, what the kingdom of heaven is like.
As Jesus showed us, our God is a God who is with us. He brings us mercy and compassion; he is our advocate for justice and our source of freedom.
God is present in the liberating words and deeds of prophetic compassion.
By his acts, beginning with freeing the man with the unclean spirit, Jesus enacted the liberation of his people from the powers of this world. He showed that the forces that bound us, from psychological forces to the oppression of the emperor, were swept away.
And he showed us that the true kingdom, -- the only true kingdom, the reign of God, -- is of a God of mercy, compassion, and justice.
The kingdom of heaven breaks in on us like spring through winter, like day through night.
The question for each of us is:
How will you announce the arrival of the kingdom? How will you show through word and deed that the kingdom of heaven is at hand?
We begin by living it – by living in the kingdom of heaven first, giving our first allegiance, not to any principality or power of this world, but to the liberating, compassionate, merciful and just reign of God.
Now, what is required of thee, but to do justice, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with thy God?
Amen.
Sermon on Mark 1:21-28 for Sunday, January 29, 2006 JRL
Sunday, July 11, 2004
an assiduous keeper of the law
Luke 10.25-37
In the name of God the merciful the compassionate the wise:
Word in mouth
Word in ear
Word in heart
We offer here
Through Christ to thee
O Lord our God. Amen.
Hear O Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is One. You shall love the lord your
God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and
with all your mind, and your neighbor as yourself. ... And who is my neighbor?
Who isn't?
[When I was in Washington DC I was an assiduous keeper of the law. I worked for
a law enforcement agency called the I. R. S. We kept the rules, we made you
keep the rules, we made lots of rules, we made more rules than you could count.
Right across the street from our office was the Smithsonian, "the nation's
attic", which I would visit at lunchtime. It was full of lots of cool stuff,
including a red cardigan sweater with a zipper [knit by Mrs. Rogers for her son
Fred], and, at the time I was there, an exhibit called "Buckaroos in Paradise"
about cowboys in Nevada. It reminded me of the West, of wide open spaces.]
One day in Rockville Maryland, stuck in traffic, between low rolling hills under
a gray gunmetal sky, I thought, I've got to see the stars again. I remembered
pulling off the road out in the desert, and looking across miles and miles of
sage and creosote. With the engine off, there wasn't a sound. Some months later,
headed west toward seminary, we were halfway across Nevada climbing a hill in
the old Pontiac Tempest (Lucille) when the engine sputtered and died. I pulled
over and lifted the hood. I rested my forearms on the hood, and looked out
across miles and miles of sage lit in purple light by the setting sun. With the
engine off, there wasn't a sound. And I realized I'd got exactly what I wanted.
Cars passed by. Some people stopped - one person offered to call triple A from
the next town; a trucker got on the CB to the state troopers. They left. Nothing
happened. Then a cowboy stopped, a real buckaroo from the Paradise Valley. You
run out of gas? I explained how we couldn't be out of gas, I'd just filled up in
Wendover... he got a siphon hose out of his truck bed and stuck an end in the
gas pipe and sucked on it. Yep. Bone dry. He offered an orange plastic 5 gallon
jug he'd been using for a water jug (don't worry, I'll just get another) and
drove us 9 miles back to the last town, Carlin. Then he took us back to the car,
made sure we got it started, and followed us 50 miles into Battle Mountain to
see us all the way to the pump. Was he an angel? I am unaware. Was he my
neighbor? You bet.
The Samaritan was an outcast, to Israel, as Fr Stephen has explained. To the
people hearing Jesus' story he's the last person they'd call neighbor. And yet
he is the one who stopped, he was the one who showed mercy; he was the neighbor
to the man who fell amongst thieves.
Who is my neighbor?
Who isn't?
Afghan refugee selling coffee and donuts out side the American Stock Exchange
(The Taliban are terrible people, he told me. They seemed so far away... there
we were, after all, in the shade of the towers of the world trade center.)
A security guard from Accra working in Borders WTC (bldg 5)
Woman from Darfur in a refugee camp in Chad
Mother and child in a corner of al Aqsa mosque, an American lady bent over them,
cooing to the happy quiet child
A temp worker on his way to Wall Street dressed in black Carhartts.
Who is my neighbor? In Christ everybody is...
The human impulse to find tribe, [s Sarah Congdon terms it,] is the drive for
security, identity, and safety: to be grounded -- even if it's in beer drinkers
or Harley pushers -- yet this impulse to protect ourselves leads us to exclude.
I am this tribe, over against that one: Jew over against Samaritan, &c. &c. &c.
[Taken this way, the law condemns us. The lawyer in the story seems to have
taken this wrong turn. He saw the law, perhaps, as a list of rules to be
followed, or a list of prepositional revelations that if only he subscribed to
would he be saved. But it is a law more terrible, [as Noel King points out,]
than this: it is a law of love.]
Jesus took this on when, God knowing full well what would happen when the grand
inquisitors got hold of a truly righteous man, through him, through his taking
on our flesh in the full knowledge of what it would could cost him: that nobody
would show him mercy; Nobody would be his neighbor.
God made us in his image, then his Son took on our form, showing us the ultimate
sign and symbol of God's mercy and the ultimate source of our identity: child of
God, child of Man, human. This human form is all the tribal symbol you need. God
took the ordinary things of life – daily bread, wine, water, flesh and blood –
and made them holy. As he took on our form, our human nature, he took up the
cross, understanding what he had accepted: he became one of us that we might
become one with him – find our identity, safety, security, only in him.
If you need a sign, look no further than the cross.
If you need a symbol, look at the font, and the table.
If you need identity, security, stability, safety, look at Christ.
Yet through Christ we all become, in him,
His neighbors – and neighbors to each other.
Will you be my
Won't you be my
Neighbor?
Sermon for Trinity Episcopal Church, Sonoma, California
July 11, 2004
Sixth Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 10
Deuteronomy 30.9-14, Psalm 25.3-9, Colossians 1.1-14, Luke 10.25-37
In the name of God the merciful the compassionate the wise:
Word in mouth
Word in ear
Word in heart
We offer here
Through Christ to thee
O Lord our God. Amen.
Hear O Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is One. You shall love the lord your
God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and
with all your mind, and your neighbor as yourself. ... And who is my neighbor?
Who isn't?
[When I was in Washington DC I was an assiduous keeper of the law. I worked for
a law enforcement agency called the I. R. S. We kept the rules, we made you
keep the rules, we made lots of rules, we made more rules than you could count.
Right across the street from our office was the Smithsonian, "the nation's
attic", which I would visit at lunchtime. It was full of lots of cool stuff,
including a red cardigan sweater with a zipper [knit by Mrs. Rogers for her son
Fred], and, at the time I was there, an exhibit called "Buckaroos in Paradise"
about cowboys in Nevada. It reminded me of the West, of wide open spaces.]
One day in Rockville Maryland, stuck in traffic, between low rolling hills under
a gray gunmetal sky, I thought, I've got to see the stars again. I remembered
pulling off the road out in the desert, and looking across miles and miles of
sage and creosote. With the engine off, there wasn't a sound. Some months later,
headed west toward seminary, we were halfway across Nevada climbing a hill in
the old Pontiac Tempest (Lucille) when the engine sputtered and died. I pulled
over and lifted the hood. I rested my forearms on the hood, and looked out
across miles and miles of sage lit in purple light by the setting sun. With the
engine off, there wasn't a sound. And I realized I'd got exactly what I wanted.
Cars passed by. Some people stopped - one person offered to call triple A from
the next town; a trucker got on the CB to the state troopers. They left. Nothing
happened. Then a cowboy stopped, a real buckaroo from the Paradise Valley. You
run out of gas? I explained how we couldn't be out of gas, I'd just filled up in
Wendover... he got a siphon hose out of his truck bed and stuck an end in the
gas pipe and sucked on it. Yep. Bone dry. He offered an orange plastic 5 gallon
jug he'd been using for a water jug (don't worry, I'll just get another) and
drove us 9 miles back to the last town, Carlin. Then he took us back to the car,
made sure we got it started, and followed us 50 miles into Battle Mountain to
see us all the way to the pump. Was he an angel? I am unaware. Was he my
neighbor? You bet.
The Samaritan was an outcast, to Israel, as Fr Stephen has explained. To the
people hearing Jesus' story he's the last person they'd call neighbor. And yet
he is the one who stopped, he was the one who showed mercy; he was the neighbor
to the man who fell amongst thieves.
Who is my neighbor?
Who isn't?
Afghan refugee selling coffee and donuts out side the American Stock Exchange
(The Taliban are terrible people, he told me. They seemed so far away... there
we were, after all, in the shade of the towers of the world trade center.)
A security guard from Accra working in Borders WTC (bldg 5)
Woman from Darfur in a refugee camp in Chad
Mother and child in a corner of al Aqsa mosque, an American lady bent over them,
cooing to the happy quiet child
A temp worker on his way to Wall Street dressed in black Carhartts.
Who is my neighbor? In Christ everybody is...
The human impulse to find tribe, [s Sarah Congdon terms it,] is the drive for
security, identity, and safety: to be grounded -- even if it's in beer drinkers
or Harley pushers -- yet this impulse to protect ourselves leads us to exclude.
I am this tribe, over against that one: Jew over against Samaritan, &c. &c. &c.
[Taken this way, the law condemns us. The lawyer in the story seems to have
taken this wrong turn. He saw the law, perhaps, as a list of rules to be
followed, or a list of prepositional revelations that if only he subscribed to
would he be saved. But it is a law more terrible, [as Noel King points out,]
than this: it is a law of love.]
Jesus took this on when, God knowing full well what would happen when the grand
inquisitors got hold of a truly righteous man, through him, through his taking
on our flesh in the full knowledge of what it would could cost him: that nobody
would show him mercy; Nobody would be his neighbor.
God made us in his image, then his Son took on our form, showing us the ultimate
sign and symbol of God's mercy and the ultimate source of our identity: child of
God, child of Man, human. This human form is all the tribal symbol you need. God
took the ordinary things of life – daily bread, wine, water, flesh and blood –
and made them holy. As he took on our form, our human nature, he took up the
cross, understanding what he had accepted: he became one of us that we might
become one with him – find our identity, safety, security, only in him.
If you need a sign, look no further than the cross.
If you need a symbol, look at the font, and the table.
If you need identity, security, stability, safety, look at Christ.
Yet through Christ we all become, in him,
His neighbors – and neighbors to each other.
Will you be my
Won't you be my
Neighbor?
Sermon for Trinity Episcopal Church, Sonoma, California
July 11, 2004
Sixth Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 10
Deuteronomy 30.9-14, Psalm 25.3-9, Colossians 1.1-14, Luke 10.25-37
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