Showing posts with label Year B Pentecost 13. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Year B Pentecost 13. Show all posts

Sunday, August 19, 2018

Be Good: August 19, 2018

Year B, Pentecost 13                                                            
John 6:51-58                                                                           
 
            One of the things I love about being a priest is that I get to spend a lot of time thinking about things and relearning things.  While in general I enjoy studying and teaching, there are some things in the church that are really hard to explain.  Every time I have to teach a communion class to children, I hit the books.  Then, I remember that the books weren’t that helpful the last time I taught the class and they are still not.  Yet still---I think---there just has to be a good way to explain this.  When I get in front of the kids, it sounds something like this:  So we eat the bread and drink the wine, but it’s not just bread and wine. It’s more.  It’s special.  It’s Jesus’ body and blood…but it’s not really the body and blood, because that would be gross.  It still tastes like bread, but it’s Jesus.  No you are not eating Jesus, but Jesus is still in you after you take communion.  Jesus is part of you because he died for you, but no- he doesn’t actually die every Sunday.  Look, it’s a mystery, we can’t actually explain it. Well….you get the picture.  It is murky.  I often wish that the Episcopal Church could achieve more clarity in our beliefs around the Eucharist, but it’s doubtful it will happen in my lifetime.    

            The thing about communion is --that at the same time, it is both the simplest part of our faith AND that most mysterious and theologically dense part of our faith.  In the early church, they argued about it endlessly, and to some extent, we are still arguing about it. Matthew, Mark and Luke all share the story of the Last Supper, where Jesus gives instructions about how we are to remember him.  We use those instructions in the words of our Eucharistic prayers (which is the prayer the priest says before we all come to the altar to receive communion).  The words we use come from the Gospels.

The Gospel of John shares the story of the Last Supper, but Jesus does not present the bread and wine as his body and blood. Instead he shares a meal with his disciples and he washes their feet and encourages them to do likewise.  The language of the body and blood instead appears in today’s Gospel reading, which comes right after the miraculous feeding of the 5000 but way before the Last Supper.  This language is rather explicit. “Very truly, I tell you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you have no life in you. Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood have eternal life, and I will raise them up on the last day;  for my flesh is true food and my blood is true drink.

            Flesh and blood.  It’s kind of gross. There is no mistaking what Jesus was talking about.  He was talking about flesh and blood.  Why did he get so specific? Prior to this reading for today, Jesus described himself as the bread of heaven. That is a lot more palatable.  But Jesus was never about making things easy. Notice he said that his flesh was true food and his blood was true drink.  Saying that something is true is another way of describing something as real.  Jesus wanted all those listening (and those of us listening now) to know that this was the real thing—that he was the real thing.  He was real and true, and he still is today.

            A lot of new age spirituality encourages us to find the divine in each one of us. I think that’s find and good.  We are created in the image of God, and that includes divinity to some degree.  Yet what Jesus was teaching people in our Gospel reading from today was the goodness of humanity, of our flesh and blood.  Often over the last 2000 years of the history of the church, flesh has gotten a bad rap.  Religious leaders have been critical of the flesh, saying that the body is sinful and weak.  Yet if that were true, why would Jesus make such a point of highlighting his humanity---so much so that he asked us to eat his flesh and drink blood?

Our bodies are weak. Even at their strongest and youngest, these bodies of ours are painfully vulnerable. Despite that, Jesus still took on a human body so he could experience what we experience. You know that saying that you have to “walk a mile in someone’s shoes?”  Jesus did so much more than that.  He lived a life in our bodies, so that we would never doubt that he understands our pain and that he isn’t some god stuck on high mountain judging from afar.  He is down here with us.

            By celebrating the Eucharist every week, we are remembering the realness of Jesus. We are not elevating him, as much as we are bringing him down to be with us. Then we are taking it a step further by consuming him.  One of the last things the priest says before all the people come to receive the bread and wine is, “These are the gifts of God for the people of God.” Then there is an optional addition. The priest can add: “Take them in remembrance that Christ died for you, and feed on him in your heart by faith with thanksgiving.”  I always include the 2nd part because I like the image of feeding on him in your heart.  We don’t normally associate the heart with food, but there is no doubt that our heart and our soul needs that kind of nourishment. It’s not enough to simply consume the body and blood.  We are to be consumed by it.

  Augustine of Hippo was a great theologian of the 5th century.  Catholics and Protestants are always arguing about who gets to claim him (which means he’s totally an Episcopalian).  He wrote a lot about the Eucharist. One of things he said was, “Come to the table to receive what you are.  Then go into the world to be what you received.” Augustine was saying that we the people are the body of Christ.  Therefore, when we come to the altar, we are receiving something we already are, but we are still being transformed by it. 

            When God created humans, God declared us good.  That never changed. Each one of us is good because we are made in the image of God. When Jesus came down in the flesh, he was reminding us that humans are still good.  In some ways, communion is another way to be reminded of the goodness that resides in each one of us.  Imagine how the world could be if we lived into that goodness---if we acted as good as we are?  So come to the table.  It will not make you good, it will remind you of the goodness that is already in you.  It will feed your body and heart.  It doesn’t matter if you can’t describe exactly what it means.  Eat the bread. Drink the wine. Then leave this church and share that goodness, because our world is desperate for that. Our world is starving for goodness, and we have an endless supply of that kind of nourishment, more than enough to share.

Sunday, August 23, 2015

We live: August 23, 2015

Year B, Pentecost 12  (Feast of Jonathan Daniels)                      
Luke 1: 46-55                                                                                     

            I went to Gettysburg College.  Gettysburg is known for being one of the bloodiest battles of the Civil War as well as a turning point in the war.  While the history of the war does not have an overt influence on campus life, it has subtle influences.  Our main administration building was used as a hospital for both union and confederate troops.  There are a lot of ghost stories involving that building, as well as almost every building on campus.  Some of the influences I have only seen in retrospect.  For instance, I love the Battle Hymn of the Republic.[1]  I do not usually like hymns that use battle imagery to depict the strength of God, but I love that hymn because we sang it in my college choir.  Every year our choir would go on tour and there would be one song that would be civil war era.  We sang the Battle Hymn when we were in the north and “I wish I was in Dixie” when we toured the South.  I don’t know if I knew that the Battle Hymn was a union song, but someone reminded me of that recently when I was discussing my love of the hymn.   The reason that the hymn has been at the forefront of my mind over the last couple of months is because our Presiding Bishop elect quoted pieces of that hymn in his sermon at General Convention.  The piece he ended with was “Glory glory Halleluiah!” 

            But that’s not why I chose this hymn for today.  You see, there was another well-known preacher who liked to quote pieces of this hymn in his sermons and speeches, The Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.  His last public words before his death were, “Mine eyes have seen the glory.”   This hymn was a popular hymn during the Civil Rights movement and today we are remembering a martyr of the Civil Rights movement.  His name is Jonathan Daniels.  This year marks the 50th anniversary of his death. There were many martyrs of the Civil Rights movement, but one of the reasons that he is on our calendar of holy men and holy women is because not only was he a martyr, but he was an Episcopal seminarian. 

            In 1965, Martin Luther King Jr. challenged students and clergy to join in the march from Selma to Montgomery.   Jonathan Daniels left seminary in Boston and joined the march.  He returned to Boston and asked his bishop if he could finish the Spring term in Selma working with the Civil Rights movement.  He worked with voter registration, picketed local businesses, tutored African American children and brought those children with him to the white Episcopal Church.  He went to jail for picketing and after a week in jail he went to a local store to buy a soda.  He was with a couple of other people including an African American teenage girl.  A volunteer sheriff stood in front of the store with a rifle to bar their entrance.   When he aimed his gun at the teenage girl, Jonathan pushed her aside and was shot.  He was 26 years old when he died.

While the call of Martin Luther King Jr. obviously moved Jonathan Daniels to action, it was also a moment in evening prayer that propelled him to Selma. It was singing.  No, it wasn’t the Battle Hymn of the Republic.  It was the Magnificat.  “My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirt rejoices in God my Savior…”  It is Mary’s reaction to her cousin Elizabeth’s proclamation that Mary is the mother of God.  It was a hymn of joy, but it was also something else.  It indicated her growing awareness that this baby she was about to give birth to was going to change the world.  Typically changing the world isn’t a smooth process.  You can’t change the world without stirring things up a bit. 

Mary stirred things up.  She was the only woman who the author of Luke allowed a full speech.  Right there in the beginning of the Gospel, a woman, Mary spoke as a prophet.  Mary dedicated only a couple of sentences to her own blessings.  She then moved on to heavier things. 

He has shown strength with his arm; he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts. He has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty.” She was talking about a God who would speak for the oppressed and the marginalized.  He had already done so in choosing her, a poor girl living under the authority of the Romans.  She had no rights.  No one listened to her.  But God had listened.  God had heard the cry of his people and he was on his way.  He was going to bring down the powerful and lift up the lowly. 

Because we often hear these words in the context of the joy of Christmas, we don’t always notice how incredibly revolutionary they were.   In many ways, this was a rebel cry.  The magnifcat is not just a beautiful hymn that we sing at Christmas.  It’s more than that.  It’s a call to action.  It’s a reminder of who Jesus is.

Jonathan Daniels wrote of the moment he knew he would return to Selma.   He said, “As the lovely hymn of the God-bearer continued, I found myself peculiarly alert, suddenly straining toward the decisive, luminous, Spirit-filled "moment" … Then it came. "He hath put down the mighty from their seat, and hath exalted the humble and meek. He hath filled the hungry with good things." I knew then that I must go to Selma. The Virgin's song was to grow more and more dear in the weeks ahead.”[2]

We have made great strides since the 1960’s, but we still have a long way to go.  All week I have been hearing the Battle Hymn in my head, but not the part about swords, or trampling, or even altars.  What I hear is the arrangement we sang in college.  The final verse came in after the lofty “glory glory halleluias.”  It was quiet and gentle.  It spoke of the beauty of the lilies.   And then there was a crescendo at the line, “As he died to make men holy”. It got louder and more powerful when we sang, “let us live to make all free. While God is marching on.”

As I meditated about that, I thought of the martyrs of our church.  I thought of the saints who have come and gone.  But what really struck me is the call to live. “Let us live to make all free.”  I don’t have the courage of Jonathan Daniels or Mary.  I am almost certain I don’t.  Some of you might.  What I pray for is the courage to live the life that God has called me to.  Jesus died so that we could live.  That is what we do.  But we don’t live for ourselves.  We live for God and we live for one another.  And we sing the magnificat and the Battle Hymn so we can feel that stirring in our heart. When I am singing, I feel that for a moment like I can do anything while God is marching on.  I can do anything if I am marching with God.  Your song might be something else. It probably is. Find your song.  Find whatever it is that reminds you that you are strong and you are courageous.  You are both of those things because God loves you so much that he died so you can live.  We, Christians, we live so all can be free.  As long as God marches on, we live.



[1] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tVzbjbMBDGE.  I found Gettysburg choir singing this on youtube.  It was 1991, which was before I got there.  It’s the same arrangement we sang when I was there.
[2] http://elvis.rowan.edu/~kilroy/JEK/home.html