Kings of Defiance: January 5 2025

 Year C, Christmas 2/Epiphany                                  Matthew 2:1-12                                        

        The first church I served put on a rather elaborate Christmas pageant every year.  The sanctuary was transformed to the hills of Bethlehem.  Every year we would try different scripts with slightly different takes on the story.  One year, we decided to include King Herod in the pageant.  Instead of just having three wise men wander up to the manger, we had them stop first at Herod’s palace to inquire about the star that they had been following. We had a teenage boy play the part of Herod.  This boy was kind of meant to play Herod.  He was one of those kids who only had one volume and it was loud and authoritative.  (He’s now a Marine officer if that helps.)  He really leaned into the role and I realized when people gasped a little at his loud proclamation --why Herod doesn’t usually end up in pageants.  It’s just not the vibe people are expecting on Christmas Eve.  We want gentle, joyful, meek and mild---a story told as if we threw a gossamer fabric over the camera lens.   We don’t want gritty and real.  We have all the reality we need.

But today is the 11^th day of Christmas, which means we can remove the gossamer filter and talk about Herod.  Because Herod is clearly an important part of this story. The Gospel of Matthew tells the birth of Jesus in 1 verse.  There are no shepherds, no angels announcing the good news.  We hear nothing about Mary’s thoughts or feelings. There is a reason that we read from the Gospel of Luke on Christmas Eve and not from Matthew.   It’s interesting given the lack of details about the birth, that there would be that much information on Herod and the magi. 

The first line of chapter 2 reads: “In the time of King Herod...” It was important to the author of the Gospel that the person reading or hearing this story knew the historical context...knew the kind of political climate that Jesus was being born into.  Just to clarify, there are a few Herods who appear in the New Testament.  This was Herod the Great---not the same Herod who killed John the Baptist or was involved in Jesus’ trial.  They were related of course and had a fair amount in common.  Both were deeply insecure about their rule and were prone to rash decisions. They would do just about anything to protect their power.  Jesus was born at the end of Herod the Great’s reign.  At this point in Herod the Great’s rule, he was known to be unstable and dangerous. He had killed many at this point, including his 2^nd wife and three of his sons. 

        These magi (which means astrologer) had travelled quite a distance. They probably didn’t know of Herod’s reputation.  They were following a star, but as you can imagine, stars probably don’t provide the clearest directions…which is how they ended up in Jerusalem instead of Bethlehem.  They might not have been from the area, but they knew that Jerusalem was the seat of power and if they were looking for someone important enough to be represented by a star, that person was probably in an important city like Jerusalem.  And who better to lead them to that important person, than another important person--- King Herod.

        While King Herod was insecure, power hungry and prone to violence, he did have the information they needed---or more accurately, he had advisors who were experts in the Hebrew scriptures.  These experts were able to point the magi in the right direction, to a small town called Bethlehem. While the magi got the information they needed, their inquiry alarmed Herod and all in his orbit. The text says that all of Jerusalem was terrified by the news that these magi from the east were looking for a special person to worship. 

We just think of this story as a nice little epilogue on to our pageant, but for some reason, the presence of these astrologers threatened a whole city.  Why? Because they wanted to pay him homage.  That is what the text says.  They were there to worship someone, and that person was not Herod.  The knowledge that a greater power was in his midst terrified Herod. The reason that all Jerusalem was terrified was because a scared and threatened Herod was a dangerous Herod.  The people of Jerusalem knew that as long as Herod was threatened, there could be no safety in their city.

         King Herod asked the magi to return to him after they had discovered this child so he could worship him.  We all know that his intentions were bad, but these magi from out of town probably didn’t.  I am sure that they had every intention of returning to this helpful king.  But something altered their path.  The first thing is that they found Jesus and as soon as they saw this infant with his young mother, they worshipped that child and gave him expensive gifts that were gifts much more appropriate for a king than a baby. They saw something in this child. They also trusted the signs that brought them to this place, which required courage and confidence.  I feel like if I was in their situation and travelled all this way to find a regular baby with no special powers born to ordinary parents in a backwater town, I might wonder, was I wrong? Did I follow the right star?

It would seem these men had more than wisdom, more than expertise in the night sky and an adventurous spirit. They also had faith.  That faith enabled them to see something that most others couldn’t see.  It also empowered them to listen to a dream that told them not to return to Herod…which is kind of amazing when you think about it. They were told by a powerful man to return to him and they didn’t.  They found the courage to defy him and return another way.

        I have to admit until this year, I never thought of the courage and defiance of these wise men from the east.  I thought of them as dreamers and seekers. They were so much more than that.  Within just a few days, they encountered 2 kings—1 king who wielded power through threats and displays of violence, and one king who chose to enter the world as vulnerable as possible.

Reading this story as not just a sweet story about magi and stars, but about courage and power has made me wonder how we all identify power in our lives and who we choose to worship, to pay homage to. Who are we bowing before? These magi didn’t simply trust what they were being told by someone in authority, they trusted in their experience of the divine. Imagine the courage that must have required, to defy the order of a king because of what you saw in a star, a baby and a dream.

There are times in our lives when we have to trust our experience and our faith and not listen to whoever the loudest and most authoritative voice is at any given time.  Those voices have a tendency to drown other voices out--- to drown out truth.  I have been ordained for 19 years and there are still many times when I question my own experience of faith, my own encounter of the divine.  What I keep coming back to is the magi and their willingness to bow before an infant, to see power where most would see weakness and to listen to dreams that many would have dismissed. 

It’s kind of amazing the power of dreams in the first few chapters of Matthew. A dream convinced Joseph to take a pregnant Mary as his wife, instead of divorcing her.  A dream led the magi away from Herod and home another way.  A dream convinced Joseph that he, Mary and Jesus had to flee to Egypt because Herod was going to search for and kill all the male children under 2. In this story, dreams saved the King of Peace.

While I am not telling you all to follow every crazy dream you have, I do hope, in this season of the Epiphany that we can open ourselves to see God in the most unexpected of places— to find hope where others see despair, to acknowledge evil when we see it, and to discover the courage we have forgotten we have.  Because that courage will enable us to defy the powers that would seek to control and trample so many of God’s children. Instead, we can embrace the powers that seek to lift others up.  Jesus never wielded power by controlling people.  He displayed power through sacrifice and love.  That is the only God we bow before.

 

 

Christmas in the Dark: Dec. 25, 2024

Year C, Christmas                               Isaiah 9:2-7                                          

          “The people who have walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who lived in a land of deep darkness—on them light has shined.”  We hear a lot of Isaiah during Advent and Christmas.  We hear it in the music, especially in Handel’s Messiah.  If that is your only exposure to Isaiah, it would be natural to assume it’s meant to be a bit of a preview for the dramatic unveiling of the Christ Child. But that would be a disservice to the Book of Isaiah, and the Jewish faith.  The Book of Isaiah is one of the longest and most significant books in the Hebrew scriptures.

          Because it’s so long and covers such a long time frame, it is usually divided into three parts.  The first part was the prophet trying to convince people to change their ways, or they would be conquered by a foreign power. In the second third, the Babylonians invaded and the people were driven from their land.  Their city, the city of God was in ruins.   Some were left homeless and friendless, but most were taken away to Babylon to live as slaves.  In that section of the book, Isaiah provided a message of consolation.  He assured them that God would save them.  The final third of Isaiah describes life after the Hebrew people have returned to their home.  But it didn’t look like the way they remembered it.  They had to rebuild and start over.  There were no easy beginnings or endings in Isaiah.

          Our reading for today comes in the first section of Isaiah.  There is a warning, but there is also hope. One of the challenges of the people of Israel was their tendency to put their hope in human kings.  They believed that their kings were divinely ordained and if only they could find the right king, then they would be safe and secure.  In many ways the US was started with a rejection of this concept, the idea that one person or a line of people could be our salvation.  Yet we still fall into that trap, don’t we----thinking that one person can save us or worse yet, one person can destroy us.

          Biblical scholars and historians believe this text from Isaiah wasn’t necessarily talking about a messiah who would be born hundreds of years later, but the reign of King Hezekiah.  King Hezekiah was a good and righteous king.  Despite that, during his reign, the Assyrians invaded and Israel was conquered.  This was not what Isaiah predicted in our reading for today. Our reading for today predicted a great light and the end to war.  It says, “For all the boots of the tramping warriors and all the garments rolled in blood shall be burned as fuel for the fire.” That was an allusion not just to the end of war, but the end of being the conquered.  That is not what happened. Not only were they conquered, King Hezekiah was followed by a corrupt king.

          One might wonder how prophetic Isaiah really was.  He promised a period of endless peace.  When we look at the Middle East, one would hardly describe it as endless peace.  Does that mean that Isaiah was wrong…or was he just wrong about that king---perhaps they just had to wait 500-700 years for the birth of Jesus.  Even the most passionate believers of Jesus Christ and his role as a savior and messiah would never try to argue that he brought a period of peace.  Look at any news outlet at any period in the history of our world---war has been a constant.  It is as reliable as death and taxes.

          And yet…I think Isaiah was on to something.  “The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those lived in a land of deep darkness---on them light has shined.”  We can never know the beauty of light until we have stood in darkness.  We can never know what it is to yearn for light until we have survived the night that seems interminable.  We can never truly fathom joy until we have experienced grief. 

          Isaiah knew that salvation would not come in a king or any temporal leader, but only from a God so intent on bringing light to humanity, he would enter the darkness with us.  For millennia, we have associated darkness with sin, pain and grief.  We have shunned darkness in favor anything that can bring us light.  Yet what we know is that new life always starts in the dark---whether it is a seed in the ground, waiting for the soil to soften enough so it can break through, or a baby in a womb waiting to be born, or Jesus in the tomb, waiting for Easter morning.  New life starts in the dark.[1] 

          Jesus, the person who we celebrate tonight and every night, was not born in a palace—in a place of light and glory.  He was born in a barn, more likely a cave as that is where people kept their animals at the time. You know what caves are—they are dark. He was born in a war torn country to people who have been conquered over and over again.  He was born as an infant, as we all are, the most vulnerable of all creatures. The movies always show this big light shining down on this scene, but in the Gospel of Luke, there is no star, there is only darkness and a few people who found their way through the darkness. 

          I think sometimes we come to Christmas service to hear this heartwarming story that kind of ties our faith up in a neat and clean bow.  But the beauty of this story is that it’s not clean and it’s not neat.  It’s not even magical.  It’s real and it’s only the beginning.  It is meant to show us that even in the deep darkness of our lives, a light shines—not in spite of the darkness but because of the darkness. 

It’s not just a light---it’s a fire, a fire that fought hard to exist—a fire that refuses to be covered.  But like all fires, it needs oxygen to keep going.  It requires that all of us fight to protect it and refuse to ignore it.  In a few minutes, we will walk out of this (slightly) warm church---leaving the soft glow of candles. We will all have to go back into the dark.  I want you to hold on to that fire, stoke that fire so that it burns bright enough, not to defeat the darkness, but to bring more life into places where most only see death.  That’s our calling as Christians, to be bearers of light and fire, because we worship a God who has not defeated darkness, but who enters the darkness with us and then lights it on fire.

---

[1] From Learning to Walk in the Dark by Barbara Brown Taylor

Redemption is here: December 1

 Year C, Advent 1                                       Luke 21:25-36                                                   

          Every year when Advent comes along, I have 2 contrasting thoughts: “Dear God, not these readings again.” AND “Oh good, these readings give me a great chance to complain about the Advent calendar industry.” Seriously, have you all seen what has been happening with Advent calendars? You can get them with any kind of alcohol, any sephora item, legos, jewelry…even cheese.  Why--- might you ask-- would these readings give the pastor a chance to talk about Advent cheese calendars? Because these readings
are so contrary to almost every way we prepare for Christmas in our world. 

In our culture, we prepare for Christmas by buying things, cooking extravagant food, attending festive events, decorating our homes, buying more decorations because our neighbors look more festive than we do…doing everything we can to artificially brighten our world that gets darker and darker with every passing day.  At times, it feels to me like the Advent Calendars, the holiday preparations, are basically trying to distract us from whatever might bring us down.  Meanwhile in church, we move to more penitential language (that means talking about our sins and seeking forgiveness) and warning people of the possible end of the world.   That is how we prepare for Advent.

Let me just say, I love Christmas lights.  I am all for providing light in the midst of darkness.  But I worry that in our rush to cover up the darkness, we lose what the darkness teaches us.  We forget that even a small flame can pierce the darkest night.

Just two weeks ago, we had a reading from Mark that was very similar to our reading from Luke today.  It was Mark’s little apocalypse.  Today is Luke’s little apocalypse.  What I said in my sermon 2 weeks ago is that Jesus wasn’t suggesting that these events were the end of the world, he said that these events were leading to the end of the world.  Since we seem to have these apocalyptic events frequently, then maybe we can reframe our way of thinking and accept that we are living through that difficult time right now. So all these warning signs (the fires, tornadoes, hurricanes, super storms) are happening right now. It’s just life and life is difficult. 

Life is full of events like the ones that Jesus described.  Is there distress among the nations? Absolutely.  Are weird things going on with our oceans? Yup.  Are people terrified and sometimes incapacitated with fear? Yes again. Have we seen the Son of Man coming in a cloud? Anyone? No.  So that means we are in this liminal space, the time between when Jesus lived, died, and was resurrected…and the time when Jesus returns.  Humanity has been in that space for over 2000 years.

So what are we to do in this liminal space?  Buy more lights? Leave them up all year round? Stick our heads in the sand and wait for it all to end? No.  Jesus gives us the answer.  After describing all these terrifying things, Jesus said, “Now when these things begin to take place, stand up and raise your heads because redemption is drawing near.” Stand up and raise your heads. It’s ok to be afraid and a little worried.  It’s ok to be sad and to grieve.  It is ok to feel all those feelings.  But in the end, we still rise because redemption is near.

Right after this exhortation, Luke switches gears a little and told a parable about spring. He said as soon as you see those first buds, those new leaves, you know that summer is close. “So also when you see these things taking place, you know that the kingdom of God is near.”  We can look at these events in our world a few ways.  We can see them as a sign that the world is getting worse and we have lost control.  Or we can see them as a reminder that the kingdom of God is near. 

Because here is the thing---the kingdom of God is more than just what it is to come.  In a sense, it has been here.  That is what Jesus brought when he was born on this earth.  He gave us access to that kingdom. But we have gotten so weighed down, so distracted by the worries of this life, we forget that redemption is not just near.  It is here.  When Jesus was born to this earth, he brought the kingdom of God with him. 

You might think, well he’s not here anymore and this world doesn’t look like the Kingdom of God. And I get that, I really do. We want the Kingdom of God to be all powerful, to right all the wrongs in this world. If this was the Kingdom of God, there would be no poverty, no prejudice, no hunger, no injustice, no war.  That is the ultimate expression of the Kingdom.  Now, we have glimpses of the kingdom, moments when earth and heaven touch.  Think of those moments you just got goose bumps for no reason, when you heard a piece of music that just took your breath away, when you saw hope where you thought hope was dead, when you found laughter in the midst of pain, when you found the courage to fight, when all you wanted to do was cry. Those are glimpses of the Kingdom of God and it’s our job as Christians to make those glimpses last a little longer and appear to more people.  We want more people to see the Kingdom of God, because it is magnificent.

Our opening prayer (which we call a collect in the Episcopal Church) reads: “Almighty God, give us grace to cast away the works of darkness, and put on the armor of light…”  As much as I love Christmas lights, the only light that will really cast away the works of darkness is the light of Christ.  I love that image of Christians being clothed with the armor of light.  Because not only does this armor protect us from desolation and despair, it also enables us to bring light into the world for others who might be scared, worried, despondent.  In sharing that light, we can bring more and more glimpses of the Kingdom of God to our world right now. That way not only can we find the strength and courage to stand and embrace redemption, we can help others do the same.  Because the true Kingdom of God is not a few people standing while others struggle to rise, it’s all of us standing together because redemption is already here. I have seen it. You have seen it.  Redemption is here.  “So we light one candle for hope.  Because the world is broken and the wait is long, but hope just won’t let go.[1]”

---

[1] From Advent Lighting Prayer by  Rev. Karen Ware Jackson 

Don't be alarmed: November 17, 2024

Year B, Pentecost 26                            Mark 13:1-8    

                Do you remember at the beginning of COVID, when every time you turned on the news or checked your newsfeed, it was a string of stories about how horrible things were looking? If I were to sum up those stories it would be, “be alarmed, be very alarmed.”  I remember the Daily Show started a segment called, “Is this how we die?”  It was funny…until people started dying.   It feels a bit like that now, every time I check the news, there are some new dire threats.  This is the end of democracy.  This is the end of freedom. This is the end of women’s rights. Because of the magic of algorithms, someone else is looking at their news and seeing a different set of stories: the stock market is sky rocketing, it’s the end of politics as usual, it’s a new golden age in America.  Either way, the news has been attention grabbing.   Some people are feeling great. Some are neutral and some are alarmed. Pretty much everything about the pandemic was horrible, but the one thing that was kind of refreshing was that the majority of people agreed that COVID was bad. It was unifying in a weird way. 

            I will confess that in general, I am prone to being alarmed by any drastic changes, sometimes even small changes. Thus, I pay attention whenever I see something in scripture telling me not to be alarmed.  The reading we had from the Gospel of Mark is sometimes referred to as the “little apocalypse.”  In it Jesus says, “When you hear of wars and rumors of wars, do not be alarmed…” Then it goes on to say: “nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom; there will be earthquakes in various places; there will be famines.”  Now, I have already admitted that I am prone to being alarmed, but is it just me, or are those verses extra alarming?

Someone brought this up at our Wednesday Eucharist—how interesting it was that Jesus would tell us not to be alarmed about war.  I thought, well, people said that kind of thing a lot in scripture.  One of the most common pieces of advice in scripture is: Do not be afraid.  It’s usually the first thing that an angel says when he brings a message to a human.  Jesus is often telling people in his midst not to be afraid, especially after a miracle or a healing. It makes sense that in the presence of holiness one would expect the words: Be not afraid. It’s helpful advice, when you are in the presence of something awe inspiring and something that is so unexpected that it’s frightening. 

I assumed that the Greek word translated to alarm and the Greek word translated to afraid were the same word.  They are not.  The word translated to alarm only appears in two other places in the New Testament. One is the version of this same story that Matthew tells. Often the Gospels tell the same story is slightly different ways. The other instance is in 2^nd Thessalonians.  The Greek word translated to alarm can also mean troubled or disturbed.  In each of these three readings, the advice to “not be alarmed” comes in response to what is referred to as the 2^nd coming or the apocalypse. 

What is interesting is that Jesus wasn’t even talking about the end of the world (which is what many of us think of when we hear warnings like this).  Jesus was talking about the events that would lead up to the end of the world. The funny thing is that every time I preach on an apocalyptic text, I come up with many examples of how what is going on in our country or our world feels kind of apocalyptic.  Yet, not even once since I have been preaching, has the world ended.  I am beginning to think that maybe these events that Jesus mentions are not pointing to the end of the world. They are just life.

  Last Sunday, I got out of my car and the weather was lovely.  Thirty minutes later I walked outside, and it was smoky. You could not even see the sun.  Someone told me it was from the fires in New Jersey.  I thought since, when were there fires in New Jersey?  This is clearly a sign of the world ending.  Apparently when you preach these texts too much, that is where your mind goes.  Guess what, we are still here. The world has not ended and Jesus is telling us all: “Do not be alarmed.”

Does that mean we become complacent? Does that mean that the fire fighters shouldn’t put the fires out and we can feel free to use fireworks in the middle of a dry forest?  No.  It means that we don’t let the fears that come out of these events paralyze us.  The problem with fear is that it narrows our vision.  All we see is the worst case scenario.  Then the only people who we talk to are other people who are also alarmed…very alarmed.  Suddenly anyone who isn’t alarmed is blind and foolish and we definitely don’t want to be associating with those people. 

As much as I appreciate a little company in my misery, I do worry about how we handle our little apocalypses.  The literal definition of apocalypse is revelation or unveiling.  Many think this election revealed something about our country.  Maybe it did.  I wonder if what we should also examine is our reactions to these apocalyptic events and what those reactions reveal.  I don’t know what any of this reveals.  Perhaps time will tell.  What I know is that refusing to engage with people who think differently will accomplish nothing.  I am not telling you to take this moment to reach out to your family and friends who voted differently. We might not be ready for that. My brother reached out to me and offered to talk and I said, “Thank you for the offer, but I am not ready.”  He responded that he loved me. I responded that I loved him too even though he was wrong. (just kidding, I just said I loved him too.) Thus I understand how hard this advice is, but I think it is what Jesus would want.

This week President Biden invited the president elect to the White House.  It appeared extremely awkward.  There were some who criticized Biden for maintaining this tradition.  They said it showed weakness. I think it showed decency and strength. Would he have done that if that was not the tradition? I don’t know. That is the beauty of traditions. They hold us accountable.  They give us guardrails on our life.  Sometimes when we get too attached to tradition, those traditions can make us rigid and stubborn.  But sometimes, perhaps many times, traditions help connect us with our ancestors and people today. 

So many parts of our liturgy are about connecting to God and one another. I was raised Catholic and the first time I visited an Episcopal Church, I found the tradition of kneeling at the rail very uncomfortable and awkward.  Now, I see it as an important reminder of what it is to be a community. It doesn’t matter how you vote, what your job is, your sexuality, your race…none of that matters in that moment.  All that matters in that moment is that we are together, gathered around the altar yearning for a piece of God’s presence.  Yearning for communion.

**The article about the "doomsday fish" popped up on my newsfeed after preaching this sermon.

 

Alleluia Anyways: November 10

Year B, Pentecost 25                                      Psalm 146                                                                             

            I often direct people to the Psalms when they are struggling with prayer. Many times people need direction in prayer and get insecure about what to say or they are just overwhelmed with the enormity of it all. I understand because I sometimes feel the same way, this week for instance.  The great thing about the psalms is that they encompass virtually every human emotion: anger, envy, frustration, joy, fear and utter desolation.  While there are 150 psalms, often times you will encounter several contrasting emotions in one psalm. I like it because it is true to life.  One moment you are on top of the world, the next moment you are asking God to vanquish your enemies.  Some days are like that.

            Given the last week, I had hoped we would have a good lament psalm.  One third of the psalms in the Bible are lament psalms, so I felt that the odds were in my favor. But no, not this week. This week was a praise psalm with the first word—Hallelujah.  I imagined how it would sound if I asked you all to say it. It would be a bit like when I ask my son to apologize for something he’s confident he bears no guilt.  Hallelujah. When I think of the word Hallelujah, I think of Easter and joy that cannot be contained— but it’s more than that.

It’s actually a transliteration of two Hebrew words that translate to: Praise God. It’s one of the few Hebrew words in the Hebrew Bible that wasn’t translated to Greek, then Latin, then English. All the other words were translated, but not this word. A music professor at Yale said it suggests the word was already charged with an emotion that transcends its linguistic meaning.[1] It’s like it was too beautiful, too lyrical, to translate it.

            When I think of praising God, I consider the times when it has just come out of me spontaneously, which frankly has been rarer than I would like to admit.  We praise God every Sunday through prayers, music and the celebration of the Eucharist.  But what I hear when I spend a lot of time contemplating the word Hallelujah, is singing the Alleluia chorus. It’s powerful and enthusiastic song of praise. I think so many of think of Alleluia in that context.  But the word Alleluia appears in all kinds of music.  I was struck by one piece the choir sang in our All Soul’s service last week.  It was a Ukranian piece written in 2007.  The whole piece is just Alleluia, but it’s much more contemplative and less triumphant then you would expect.  The author of the piece said he wrote it after a mission trip to Ukraine.  It was meant to be the “quiet voice of faith, praise and hope in the midst of suffering and tragedy”. That is how the composer of the piece described it. We don’t have to associate Hallelujah with joy.

            The Hebrew word is actually an imperative---it’s a command.  One commentator described it as a discipline. That means that even when we don’t feel it, we still say it.  We praise God not because of the wonderful things that are going on in our world.  We praise God because our God is worthy of praise. It’s not supposed to be easy.  It’s not supposed to be something that we only do when things are going our way and we are grateful to God for all the blessings in our life. We can’t just believe in a good God when all is right in the world.

That’s easy to preach, but how can we praise when we find ourselves in times of despair, when we have lost faith in people, when we have worked so hard and not achieved the outcome we wanted.  We grieve.  We act.  We organize. We remember the verses of this psalm that tell us not to put our trust in rulers, because they cannot save us…even when we have a really good one who we voted for. They cannot ruin us, no matter how very bad they are.  Only God can save us.

Because we still worship a God who loves us, a God who gives justice to the oppressed, food to the hungry, sets the prisoners free, opens the eyes of the blind and cares for the immigrant, the orphan and the widow.  When our human leaders let us down (and they will, because they are humans---and some of them are very flawed humans), we cannot lose hope.  Our hope is not based on who we elect or don’t elect.  Our hope has one source—God. So we continue to praise the Lord, not because we are pleased with what is happening in our nation and our world, but in spite of it.  Let your praise be your protest. 

            And I know how hard that is. Praising God is part of my job description and I still find it difficult in the midst of division and hatred.  There will be moments when we can’t praise God and instead we pray Psalm 13, “How long must I bear pain in my soul, and have sorrow in my heart all day long? How long shall my enemy be exalted over me?” There have been many moments over the last several years when I have asked, “How long?” I don’t care what political party you are in, I don’t know anyone who believes things are going swimmingly.  I don’t know anyone who feels that our government is doing a great job of standing up for the poor, the oppressed, the immigrant, the imprisoned, all those people that the God of justice, (the God of psalm 146) promised to love and lift up.

What I fear more than anything, is hopelessness, people giving up hope.  So I ask that when we sing our final hymn, we will sing with whatever energy we have left-- these words: “Save us from weak resignation, to the evils we deplore..  Grant us wisdom, grant us courage, serving thee whom we adore.” Let us not forget who we serve. We serve a loving God who cares deeply for all those people the world just tosses aside.

Because of that, we keep saying Hallelujah, even if it’s barely a whisper. You don’t have to say it with triumph.  You don’t even have to say it with joy.  Say it however feels right in your soul. You know how we don’t say Alleluia during Lent? The one exception is at funerals. Because even in the midst of death and grief, we make our song—Alleluia, Alleluia, Alleluia. Even when we feel that all is lost, our God continues to save us and the people we love.  Let our Alleluia be our protest, our protest to the division, the hatred, the misogyny, the racism, the homophobia---all of those things that create walls instead of bridges. No one gets to take Hallelujah away from us.  Don’t stop praising God. Let our praise be our protest.

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[1] Hallelujah! The remarkable story behind this joyful word - Los Angeles Times.  Quote is from Markus Rathey, a professor at Yale

Tearing up the Shroud of Death: November 3

Year B, All Saints                                                       Isaiah 25:6-9                                                                                                 

            It’s complicated. All Saint’s Sunday is complicated. This is partly because the understanding of this day has evolved over the years. It was originally meant to be a day to commemorate all the Christian martyrs (those who had been persecuted and died for their faith).  In the first few centuries of the church, they would commemorate a martyr with a specific day. But by about the 4^th century, with the increased persecution of Christians, it became clear that they were going to run out of days.  Finally, by the 9^th century, they picked one day and called it All Saints Day.  This was to be the day that would not only commemorate all Christian martyrs, but all Christians who had died.  With all of these changes, the understanding of what it was to be a saint shifted to what many people perceive as the original intention…the intention of the New Testament—to include all Christians who have died and all Christians still living.

            When Paul used the word saint, he was almost always referring to those who were alive. In his letter to the Ephesians he wrote, “I have heard of your faith in the Lord Jesus and your love toward all the saints…” Even knowing that---that saints includes the living and the dead, I have never completely wrapped my head around the reason that the Episcopal Church specified this day as a day when we should have baptisms.

There are 4 recommended days in the prayer book for baptisms.  One is Easter, which makes sense. It’s a celebratory day when we talk about new life and hope.  Pentecost is another as it marks the day when the Holy Spirit descended on the assembly and thousands of people were baptized as a result.  The other recommended day is the day when we celebrate the baptism of Jesus, which seems like an appropriate place to have a baptism.  But All Saint’s Day?

The challenge with having baptisms on All Saint’s Day is not just the grief  that comes with the recitation of the names of those who have died in the last year, but also the biblical readings themselves. The readings that we have on All Saint’s Day are the same readings that are recommended for funerals. They are about death and grief, at least that is what I associate them with. I recommend this reading from John when I am officiating a funeral for someone who has died unexpectedly, because people can often empathize with Mary’s frustration and anger and Jesus’ grief and tears.  I use this reading from Isaiah that talks about the feast of rich food and wine when the person who has died loved to cook or host gatherings.  I imagine them in heaven at this amazing banquet, finally being the recipient of hospitality rather than the host. 

While I associate these readings with death and funerals, our funeral liturgy in the Episcopal Church is about more than death and grief.  We try to emphasize with our readings, music and prayers, that we are also celebrating the resurrection of Jesus and the resurrection of us all.  Thus, it’s appropriate to have baptisms on this day when we read the names of those we have lost over the last year.  Because both baptisms and death are new beginnings—in very different ways, but they are new beginnings.

This year, I am just having a harder time with that idea.  I attended a funeral of a good friend a few weeks ago and I wanted to embrace the message of resurrection and this beautiful life to come, but it was hard.  The final hymn was, “It is well with my soul.” I struggled through singing that hymn, because it didn’t feel well with my soul.  My soul felt like it was covered in that shroud that Isaiah describes so perfectly in the first reading.  Isaiah talks about a shroud that is cast over all people.  Isaiah said that God will destroy that shroud and swallow up death forever.  But Isaiah was predicting what was to come in that time where there would be no death, when sin would be no more, when God would wipe away the tears from our faces. That time has not yet come.  People we love still die. We still live under the shroud of death, and sin is all too present in our world. 

In some ways, having baptisms on All Saint’s Day is little act of rebellion, and we do love our rebellions at Christ Church.  When we baptize our new saints, whether they be a small child like Rory or an adult who teaches the children of our city like Leah, we aren’t pretending that sin and death don’t exist. We are acknowledging their presence, but also protesting them. We are saying, yes, death is still a reality in our world. Evil and hatred are still present. In spite of all of that, maybe because of all that, we are still bringing new saints into our communion of saints. Not only that, we as a congregation are making a promise to support these new saints and be a community of saints with them, not because we are all perfect, or even close to perfect, but because we all know how much we need God in our lives. 

One of my favorite lines in the baptism is “You are sealed by the Holy Spirit and marked as Christ’s own forever.”  When we say that line, we use oil blessed by our bishop.  We use that same oil for people who are very sick or about to die. It’s reminder that wherever we are on this journey that is our life and our faith, we are sealed by the Holy Spirit and marked as Christ’s own forever.  We will all die one day.  It’s the reality that we all face.  Before we die, we live, we live knowing that while death and sin are a shroud on this beautiful world, moments like this, when we are together celebrating new saints in our midst, provide tears and rips in that shroud and one day, God will come again and tear the shroud to pieces. 

The final line in our reading from Isaiah is: “This is the Lord for whom we have waited; let us be glad and rejoice in his salvation.” Let’s not wait until God comes again to be glad and rejoice.  Let’s claim every moment we possibly can and rejoice in God’s love and salvation. Let’s do it now.

 

Before we follow: October 27, 2024

 Year B, Pentecost 23                       Mark 10:46-52                                                                                                     The Gospel readings from Mark over the last few weeks have not been easy.  The disciples have made some serious missteps.  They have misunderstood Jesus, argued with Jesus, bickered amongst themselves about who is the greatest, and requested special seats of honor. I have struggled with these readings not because I am horrified by the disciples’ words or actions, but because I can identify with the disciples in so many of their words and actions. I know their fear and anxiety because I often feel that fear and anxiety. 

            Today’s reading is a welcome reprieve from the readings of the last month---finally, a simple miracle story.  I mean, who doesn’t love a good miracle story? Often commentators talk about Bartimaeus as an example of what discipleship should look like. They contrast him to the story we heard earlier in chapter 10.  That story was about a rich man who had come to Jesus and asked him what he must do to receive eternal life.  Jesus reminded him of the commandments and the man confirmed he had followed them all. Then Jesus told him he needed to sell all he had and give his money to the poor—then he could follow him.  The man went away grieving because he had so many possessions. We don’t know what happened to the man, but it would appear that he did not become a disciple of Jesus. 

            Bartimaeus provides a perfect foil for the story of the rich man. What we know of Bartimaeus is this: he was a blind beggar. That’s all we know.  If he was begging on the streets, we can assume he had few resources.  It would also seem that he had few friends supporting him.  When he initially called out to Jesus from the crowd, he was sternly ordered to be quiet.  There are other stories in the gospels where friends or family advocated for someone needing Jesus’ help.  This is not one of those stories. Since he didn’t have anyone advocating for him, he had to advocate for himself.  He had to be as persistent and bold as possible. Despite being ordered to be quiet, he continued to call out to Jesus.  Jesus always appreciated persistence and asked him to come forward. 

The gospel author wrote, “So throwing off his cloak, he sprang up and came to Jesus.”  He threw off his cloak.  Given that he was a blind man begging on the streets, it’s very likely that his cloak was his most important possession.  He didn’t have three other cloaks hanging in a closet somewhere. To throw that cloak off was in incredible display of faith. He either knew that Jesus would give him his sight, or he believed that someone would help him find that cloak again.  That means to get this cloak back, he required a miracle or the kindness of the strangers who were trying to silence him. He gave up his most important possession for the opportunity to be in the presence of Jesus and the chance that he might see.

            He had most likely heard about Jesus. He had probably heard that he was a miracle worker---perhaps even more than a miracle worker. But given the fact that he was blind, he was totally going off what other people had told him. What he had was faith. In chapter 11 of Hebrews, we are told that “faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.” He had more than faith, he had desperate faith.  Often times desperation makes us do idiotic things.  But sometimes, faith with a little desperation can enable us to believe and reach in ways that comfortably content people cannot possibly imagine. 

Bartimaeus took a risk in giving up his most valuable possession and in the end gained his sight.  And here is a crazy thing, he didn’t call out and say, “Jesus, help me.” or “Jesus, heal me.” He said, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me.” He understood something that the rich  man didn’t understand, that before we can be saved, before we can reach eternal life, we must first ask for mercy, from the one person, the God who can grant it. Mercy.

            Now you might think, well it was probably easier for him to give up a cloak than the rich guy to give up everything….which was probably the point of Jesus saying, how hard it was for those who have wealth to enter the kingdom of heaven. The more you have, the harder it is to let go.  Anybody who has downsized a house gets that. I have experienced the reverse recently. Since we are living in the rectory of my husband’s church and the rector who originally lived there had six children, we live in a much larger house than I am accustomed to. Every time I walk in, I think, “we need more furniture.”  We don’t need more furniture, but all those empty rooms seem to be mocking me.  So for the first time in my life, I understand that need to acquire more things to fill empty space.

            Now it’s highly unlikely that any of us are going to sell everything we have.  But there are disciplines we can add to our life that enables us to prioritize what we do with our stuff. The first time I pledged to a church was when I was 22 attending a Catholic Church. I gave $10 a week and I was proud of that.  I felt very adult in making that pledge. Then I decided to start investing because a friend was working at an investment firm and he went through my budget with me. He asked me how much I spent on certain things---what I gave to charity and the very next question was how much I spent on entertainment.  I had to admit that I spent more on entertainment then I did on charity.  I was embarrassed, but not enough to change my spending. 

It was really not until after I was ordained that I made giving a priority…where I budgeted the essentials like housing & food and then the very next thing was what I gave to charity. It took me about 10 years, but eventually I got to 10%.  There have been a few years since then when I could not make 10%, sometimes not anywhere close to that. But I have realized that the more resources I have, the more effort I have to put in to giving more of myself.  It requires more intentionality in my life.  That is one of the reasons why the act of creating a pledge and writing it down has always been meaningful to me.

            After Bartimaeus sprang up and threw off his cloak, Jesus asked him, “What do you want me to do for you?”  Bartimaeus answered, “My teacher, let me see again.”  I think it’s important that we consider this question that Jesus asked of Bartimaeus, which is the same question he asked his disciples earlier in the Gospel.  What do we want Jesus to do for us?  But since it’s our Ingathering and we are talking about stewardship, it might also be a good time to wonder, what does Jesus want of us? Once Bartimaeus was given his sight, he immediately followed Jesus.  We often focus on how we can follow Jesus, but what Bartimaeus shows us is that there is a step that comes before the following part.  Before we can follow Jesus, we have to be willing to let go of something.  He threw off his cloak so he could run to Jesus.  What might be holding us back…both as individuals and as a church? What do we need to release or give away so that we can rise up and follow?