When our nephew was four years old, his parents announced the family was going to Disneyland during spring break. One night, in the middle of the night, about three o’clock in the morning, his mother awoke to the sound of little feet in footie pajamas padding lightly down the hall to the kitchen.
What are you doing?
I want to see the b’wochure about Dizzlieland!
He was so excited he could not wait until morning.
That is what hope does for us. It is the anticipation of things not seen, not know. For hope in what is seen is not hope – we hope for what we do not see.
And with faith growing in us we wait for it with patience.
With patience: because we trust in the Lord, we are able to wait – though we get all excited about it.
We wait for what is emerging – for that which is coming into being – which we do not yet see.
That is what “emergent” means – something that is becoming real, coming into our lives, that cannot be altogether explained by what we already know
We have to wait for it – and see. That is where trust comes in – and conquers fear.
Trust in God; do not be afraid. That is the message of the angel so many times when God’s messenger announces that something new is coming into being in the world.
And we can respond not only with trust, with hope, but without fear.
Remember the angel that appeared to Zechariah, John the Baptist’s father, before John was born. Your wife Elizabeth will bear a son and he will bring to Israel the good news of the coming of the Messiah.
And remember Mary – hail to thee, full of grace, the Lord is with thee, the Angel proclaimed. Something new is coming, some One new is coming into being – and you are called to be the bearer, the God-bearer indeed, mother of the Anointed, God’s only begotten Son: Jesus.
Be with me as you say, Mary replies, in obedience and faithful response. And so a new order of the ages begins, with the Word, the Son of God, come into the world.
May it be with me as you say…
Paul in the Epistle to the Romans that we hear this morning continues the proclamation.
All who are led by the Spirit of God are his children. We did not receive a spirit of slavery – we are not automatons bound to obey a remorseless will. We have been adopted as sons and daughters, freely embraced and freely embracing God as loving parent. We are children, heirs; joint heirs with Christ.
And the whole of creation leans into this promise, groans with birth pangs, as it were, to bring forth the glory of God in this world.
Birth pangs: for the glory does not come without suffering. Jesus himself suffered as he waited in the garden anticipating death – but he trusted, and obeyed, and received the gift he now shares with us: the resurrection hope, the freedom from bondage to decay – the completion of life that is beyond death – because we know in the hope of the resurrection that Christ is alive – eternally present to the Father and we will be caught up in that glory as well.
Death does not get the final word. And even now coming into being in this world God’s kingdom comes – with our own hands, our feet, our hearts, our voices.
Working in us is the hope of glory – know that what is emerging in this world is not an emergency to panic us or make us fearful. We may not know what it will look like, what the future will hold for us – but we know that, as God reassures us through the words of the prophet Jeremiah, “I know the plans I have for you,” says the Lord, “plans for your good and not for evil, that you may have a future with hope.”
That you, who have the first fruits of the Spirit, will show in your lives the hope that you have.
That all may be well, that trusting in God, who is faithful and steadfast to love us, we shall see faith fulfilled in love, and hope completed in glory, and we in our lives will show that we are free to worship him without fear, witnessing with our words and our deeds to the glory of the presence of the Lord.
Teach me your way, O Lord, and I will walk in your truth; knit my heart to you that I may hold your name in awe and wonder. I will thank you, O Lord my God, with all my heart and glorify your name forever more.
Amen.
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Isaiah 44:6-8
Psalm 86:11-17
Romans 8:12-25
Matthew 13:24-30, 36-43
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Showing posts with label future with hope. Show all posts
Showing posts with label future with hope. Show all posts
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Sunday, December 5, 2010
Beauty Ranch
2010 December 5, Second Sunday of Advent, Isaiah 11:1-10, Psalm 72:1-7 & 18-19, Romans 15:4-13, Matthew 3:1-12,
In the name of God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit: source of all being, eternal word and holy breath of God: Amen.
About a hundred years ago a man rode into a valley - and looked around him. It was a beautiful place with views of majestic mountains and hills covered with that tawny grass we know in summers in much of the West. He saw that things could grow here - with nurture and water - this would be a good place for a ranch, and grape vines, and fruit trees.
There was a farm house and he built a barn. He planted an orchard and a vineyard. On the porch and in the study of the house (and probably on his walks and rides around the ranch and its environs) he carried on the profession he'd brought with him. The ranch prospered, the vines and trees bore fruit.
Other people moved into the valley and followed his example.
He built his dream house - with a good architect, solid rock and great hewn timbers. It was to be a place for friends and family to gather - to enjoy the good green earth - and when you rode up the hill to it you would get an impressive view, of the house and the orchards and fields around it, through the tall trees guarding the road, and once you got up to the house itself, the magnificent vista looking out over the hills and towards the mountains beyond and around it.
Fruit still grows to ripeness there.
Descendants still take an interest in the old place - people come to see it from time to time.
Jack London lived to see his dream house built - but he did not get to live in it.
It's no longer there - what is there are some of the trees he planted, the fields he cleared, some of the outbuildings, and oddly enough the little old house that was there when he started. Jack died on the porch of that house of uremic poisoning - after a full life lived well and passionately, his kidneys failed.
He left behind him a legacy not only for family and friends, for the readers of his words, but for the community. The people who came into the valley with him and before him - he acknowledged the primeval people of the place - and new people who come into the Valley of the Moon to this day - all benefit from what he did.
It's not so much what he built or how long it lasted - it has a lot to do with what he grew and harvested - it has even more to do with what he planted - and how he carried others along in his mission.
His mission was to establish a peaceful growing place - a place to live, a place to grow, a place to share in the abundance of the earth. It fostered his own creativity - he wrote every day, on that porch, five hundred words - it fostered a growing, creative life-sharing community - a tradition of how to live a good, generous, big life.
Of course he is gone now: the descendants of John Griffith London are not the big men in the valley (though they are still around and still keep an eye on the orchards and fields). What you see is new and old: continuity-in-change and change-in-continuity.
Remember the best of the past and look forward to the future - bring into the present moment the freedom God has given you - and go forth from this place, a place of God's abundance, in abiding love, strengthened, renewed, refreshed, and ready.
Preserving the past or its memories alone won't preserve it. Won't keep it alive. Won't nurture new growth. Won't bring life.
Another John, Lennon, found that out: life is what happens while you are making other plans.
The legacy is not in the building - the life of the community, the church - does not stay in the building - it reaches out. It has to do, yes, with what you have grown and harvested - in thanksgiving time we celebrate that. It has even more to do with what you have planted - and what the people coming new into this part of the world make of it - of what you have planted - and even more of how.
Whether the old place still stands or not, in the valley, it lingers in our memory: a sturdy place of shelter, of welcome and of beauty; an achievement and a monument of achievements past, but more than that a guidepost and landmark to guide our feet into the paths of peace.
Where will you go now, O people of God - how will you serve and what will you grow? What will you nurture? What fruit will you bear and what seeds will you sow?
Are you preparing the ground for new growth? Have you given thanks for the harvest, cleared the ground, and nurtured the soil? Will you be ready for spring?
New growth is coming - a new season on the old ranch - what will it look like? Familiar or foreign, will it be nurtured by remembrance of things past or captured in nostalgia? Will this present moment become a moment of freedom grasped - or forgotten?
What we know is this: God is our guide, our creator, sustainer, and redeemer. God will be there ahead of us as he was before us - planting, sowing, harvesting, cultivating, beginning and beginning again; his legacy is his calling forth into the future his people that true beauty and the fruits of the Spirit come forth and be known upon this earth.
We proclaim the mystery of faith, the mystery of Christ. We remember his death, we proclaim his resurrection, we await his coming in glory We await actively - by seeking strength and renewal; by going forth in peace to love and serve the Lord; by carrying forward his mission in the world; by bearing the fruit of the Spirit - peace, joy, gentleness, and hope; - and by nurturing in others the Word newly planted in their hearts; by seeing in the stranger a newcomer to the valley, a new partner in the work, to welcome.
May we go forward in hope
in the abundance of love
in the renewal of grace
in the strength of faith. Amen.
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Jack London, "The Acorn Planters" (play)
Sermon for the second Sunday of Advent 2010
St Alban's Episcopal Church, Edmonds, Wash.
JRL+
In the name of God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit: source of all being, eternal word and holy breath of God: Amen.
About a hundred years ago a man rode into a valley - and looked around him. It was a beautiful place with views of majestic mountains and hills covered with that tawny grass we know in summers in much of the West. He saw that things could grow here - with nurture and water - this would be a good place for a ranch, and grape vines, and fruit trees.
There was a farm house and he built a barn. He planted an orchard and a vineyard. On the porch and in the study of the house (and probably on his walks and rides around the ranch and its environs) he carried on the profession he'd brought with him. The ranch prospered, the vines and trees bore fruit.
Other people moved into the valley and followed his example.
He built his dream house - with a good architect, solid rock and great hewn timbers. It was to be a place for friends and family to gather - to enjoy the good green earth - and when you rode up the hill to it you would get an impressive view, of the house and the orchards and fields around it, through the tall trees guarding the road, and once you got up to the house itself, the magnificent vista looking out over the hills and towards the mountains beyond and around it.
Fruit still grows to ripeness there.
Descendants still take an interest in the old place - people come to see it from time to time.
Jack London lived to see his dream house built - but he did not get to live in it.
It's no longer there - what is there are some of the trees he planted, the fields he cleared, some of the outbuildings, and oddly enough the little old house that was there when he started. Jack died on the porch of that house of uremic poisoning - after a full life lived well and passionately, his kidneys failed.
He left behind him a legacy not only for family and friends, for the readers of his words, but for the community. The people who came into the valley with him and before him - he acknowledged the primeval people of the place - and new people who come into the Valley of the Moon to this day - all benefit from what he did.
It's not so much what he built or how long it lasted - it has a lot to do with what he grew and harvested - it has even more to do with what he planted - and how he carried others along in his mission.
His mission was to establish a peaceful growing place - a place to live, a place to grow, a place to share in the abundance of the earth. It fostered his own creativity - he wrote every day, on that porch, five hundred words - it fostered a growing, creative life-sharing community - a tradition of how to live a good, generous, big life.
Of course he is gone now: the descendants of John Griffith London are not the big men in the valley (though they are still around and still keep an eye on the orchards and fields). What you see is new and old: continuity-in-change and change-in-continuity.
Remember the best of the past and look forward to the future - bring into the present moment the freedom God has given you - and go forth from this place, a place of God's abundance, in abiding love, strengthened, renewed, refreshed, and ready.
Preserving the past or its memories alone won't preserve it. Won't keep it alive. Won't nurture new growth. Won't bring life.
Another John, Lennon, found that out: life is what happens while you are making other plans.
The legacy is not in the building - the life of the community, the church - does not stay in the building - it reaches out. It has to do, yes, with what you have grown and harvested - in thanksgiving time we celebrate that. It has even more to do with what you have planted - and what the people coming new into this part of the world make of it - of what you have planted - and even more of how.
Whether the old place still stands or not, in the valley, it lingers in our memory: a sturdy place of shelter, of welcome and of beauty; an achievement and a monument of achievements past, but more than that a guidepost and landmark to guide our feet into the paths of peace.
Where will you go now, O people of God - how will you serve and what will you grow? What will you nurture? What fruit will you bear and what seeds will you sow?
Are you preparing the ground for new growth? Have you given thanks for the harvest, cleared the ground, and nurtured the soil? Will you be ready for spring?
New growth is coming - a new season on the old ranch - what will it look like? Familiar or foreign, will it be nurtured by remembrance of things past or captured in nostalgia? Will this present moment become a moment of freedom grasped - or forgotten?
What we know is this: God is our guide, our creator, sustainer, and redeemer. God will be there ahead of us as he was before us - planting, sowing, harvesting, cultivating, beginning and beginning again; his legacy is his calling forth into the future his people that true beauty and the fruits of the Spirit come forth and be known upon this earth.
We proclaim the mystery of faith, the mystery of Christ. We remember his death, we proclaim his resurrection, we await his coming in glory We await actively - by seeking strength and renewal; by going forth in peace to love and serve the Lord; by carrying forward his mission in the world; by bearing the fruit of the Spirit - peace, joy, gentleness, and hope; - and by nurturing in others the Word newly planted in their hearts; by seeing in the stranger a newcomer to the valley, a new partner in the work, to welcome.
May we go forward in hope
in the abundance of love
in the renewal of grace
in the strength of faith. Amen.
+
Jack London, "The Acorn Planters" (play)
Sermon for the second Sunday of Advent 2010
St Alban's Episcopal Church, Edmonds, Wash.
JRL+
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