Saturday, August 31, 2013

Sermon for the day of Saint Mary the Virgin


“G-d bearer”
Saint Mary the Virgin, transferred
18 August 2013



The Episcopal Church of Our Saviour
Mill Valley, California


Isaiah 61:10-11
Galatians 4:4-7
Saint Luke 1:46-55

INI

A Thousand Images

Last Thursday evening at the Church of the Advent in San Francisco, many of us gathered along with Mother Lizette Larson-Miller to celebrate the day in the Episcopal Calendar when the church is bidden to honor the Blessed Virgin Mary. It was a remarkable evening.  The church was packed, the choir sang beautifully, Deacon Nancy Eswein preached an excellent homily, and we remembered the Virgin’s Son, Jesus in the Eucharist.  I was amused, however, that in the musical selections for the evening, we collectively wandered from pillar to post, wondering what it was that reformed catholics can say about Mary on such a day.  At some points her assumption was mentioned, a celebration of her bodily assumption into heaven, not laid down as dogma in the Roman Church until 1950.  At other points, her dormition, her falling asleep, in other words, her dying was mentioned.  In the Eastern Churches this is the terminology that surrounds the Virgin.  Having visited both of her tombs, one in Ephesus, and one in Jerusalem, I personally can see how this day can be confusing to some.

So why do it?  That is a very good question, which is worthy of our consideration today.  Why do we honor her?  Perhaps the question really is why do so many Christians not honor her? Remember the lines of demarcation between those who were Roman Catholics and those who were not?  It always seemed to center about how we thought about or didn’t think about the Virgin Mary.  The Romans did, and we didn’t.  It is not that simple, however.  The Protestantism that stems from the work of Calvin in Geneva does not feel that the celebration of this day is worthy, while the Protestants that follow from the English and German reformations never forgot the huge role that Mary played in their lives or prayer and remembrance.  The piety that surrounded the Mother of, that made its ways into the daily actions of life, this piety was a comfort to the faithful, and a personal connection to Jesus.  Luther, Cramner, and others did not give up this aspect of their piety and prayer life easily.  So what was it that they treasured?
Once on a trip to Florence, Italy, I began to register in my mind all the images of the Virgin that I was seeing in parish churches, in the Uffizi, in the Bargello, at the Pitti Palace, and in niches at street corners.  They seemed to display a thousand images of the Virgin Mary, sorrowful, joyful, as heaven’s queen, as a suckling mother, pierced by swords, crowned by angels, a Byzantine queen, a humble young girl.  It began to become clear to me that the power of Mary is that she was one of us.  All of these guises and emotions linked her to us – to how we live life – to what we have to survive.  She seemed to me, at least, to embody my prayer and my spiritual wants.

The Real Person
While I was still at Saint Mark’s in Berkeley, I would often bump into professors and scholars whose work I admired.  One of these came up to me one Sunday morning, and said, “Father, you know I have not always been an Episcopalian.  I was raised as a Baptist.  I have learned to love the Book of Common Prayer, the liturgy, the prayer offices, and the psalter.  I love my life in this church, but what’s all this stuff about the Virgin Mary.  Didn’t we give all that up?”

We had lunch several days later and we talked about her “trouble with Mary” as she put it.  I dragged her back to Florence with me, and we talked about all of those images.  We talked about the images in the readings for this day:  Mary clothed with righteousness in Isaiah, Mary in praise of G-d in the psalm for today, and her prayers for the lowly and afflicted, Mary and the fullness of time in Galatians, where G-d comes to us “born of a woman,” and finally in Mary’s song, the Magnificat in the Gospel for today. 

The heart of Mary is the heart of her song.  Listen to her themes and see if they don’t apply in our day and age. 

-       My spirit rejoices in G-d my Savior; he has looked with favor on (my) lowliness.
-       His mercy is for those who fear him
-       He has scattered the proud
-       He has brought down the powerful
-       He has lifted up the lowly
-       He has filled the hungry
-       He has sent the rich away empty.
-       All of this according to his promise.

As I have mentioned several times before, these aspects of her song are very much a part of Luke’s outlook on life and what was needful in the first century.  There was suffering, there was hunger, there was oppression, there were needs, and Luke places Mary in the midst of them all – perhaps because she had experienced them all.  And that is what attracts us to her.  Confronted by an angel who declares that she is to have child of some consequence she simply replies, “be it unto me as you will.”  This is the Mary who in spite of all that she is portrayed to be is simply one of us – a handmaid, a servant of G-d.

My friend, the professor, seemed to understand this, but mentioned that it would take a lifetime of prayer and action to embrace Mary in a new way. 

Another professor, of some renown, came up to me after my second sermon at Saint Mark’s.  It was the Feast of Christ the King, and the Gospel was Luke’s crucifixion scene where Jesus is enthroned upon the cross.  I had talked about how the crucifix, that image, had been suppressed among us – not common in our churches at all.  She came up to me in the narthex, put her hand on my arm, looked me straight in the eye and said, “We need to talk about the crucifixion.”  And we did, some weeks later.  Her contention was that there was a better image that portrayed G-d’s love for humankind than the violence of the cross.  For her that image was of Mary suckling the Christ child.  In her mind that was the image that spoke of G-d’s love.

Bearing Christ
One title that Mary enjoys in the Eastern and Western Churches, amongst Anglicans, Episcopalians, and Lutherans is the title – Theotokos.  It means G-d-bearer.  I am hoping that you are musing in your own minds about why I have chosen to have us celebrate this day, why I moved it to a Sunday, why I deem it so important.  And I hope that are wondering what all of this has to do with life in Mill Valley, or Novato, or Ross, or Marin City.  The title is the clue.  Mary is the G-d-bearer, or as some proclaim it The Mother of G-d.  I like the G-d-bearer because, like all those images of Mary portraying her human needs and nature, this title allows us to see what it is that we can do.  Go through the images and the lines of the Magnificat, the points of contact are many and approachable.

Feed a child – be like Mary.  Prayer for others – be like Mary.  Love Jesus – be like Mary.  Feed the hungry – be like Mary.  See and feel the sorrow and grief of others – be like Mary.  Remember G-d’s mercy – be like Mary.  Like Abraham, she is an example of the faith that needs to be more than something expressed in our heads and minds.  Our faith, like hers needs to be expressed in the work of our hands, in our prayers, and in our deeds. 

On Thanksgiving, Arthur and I go to Texas, to Austin, to visit and celebrate with his family.  One year we took my mother along.  There she met Arthur’s mother, now sainted, Pat Morris.  They spent some time together.  They were both faithful Christians – one a Catholic and one a Lutheran.  I am curtained that they consoled one another about the lives of their children, especially their eldest sons who were living life much differently than they had ever imagined.  They left that conversation with a bond between them.  Pat gave to my mother an icon of Mary – it was the image that united them, and my mother kept it at her bedside until her death in January.  The mothers knew Mary the mother and it became a symbol of their own relationship and their prayers for their families. 

Mary, like other saints, is a touchstone.  She is the human being we can look at and perceive in her our own life, our own troubles, and our own victory in Christ.  Queen of Heaven? Maybe.  The one who prays for and with us?  Certainly.  The mother in whom we see all motherhood?  Definitly.  The Theotokos – the G-d-bearer/ Unquestionably.  Now the only question that remains is, how will we be G-d-bearers?  How will we bring Christ from the Christmas crèche into the reality of the life that surrounds us?

SDG

Thursday, August 8, 2013

Sermon for the Eleventh Sunday after Pentecost - Proper 13, 4 August 2013


“Things?”
The Eleventh Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 13
4 August 2013



The Episcopal Church of Our Saviour
Mill Valley, California


Ecclesiastes 1:2, 12-14; 2:18-23
Psalm 49:1-11
Colossians 3:1-11
St. Luke 12:13-21

INI

A Culture of Cynicism and Greed (Ecclesiastes)

Right after my daughter had moved out to California to live with Arthur and me, we went out for dinner, just the two of us.  We talked about our life, both together and apart – about her battle with bio-polar disorder, and about her adjustment to life in California after a childhood in a Quaker village in New Jersey.  It was a heavy evening, and as we walked down the street we both paused and looked in the display window of a fine gift shop.  “Do you like things?” I asked her.  She thought for a moment, and said, “No.”  She had weightier issues with which to deal.  As we continued to gaze at the objects, I said, “You will.”  As I think back on my comment and the conversation, I began to wonder if I had pronounced a blessing or a curse.

The words of Qohelet son of David, king in Jerusalem.  Merest breath, said Qohelet, merest breath. All is mere breath. What gain is there for man in all his toil that he toils under the sun.[1]   

I love things – books, pieces of art, food, dance, music.  I knew that my daughter would love them too, but the Preacher, Qohelet, the author of Ecclesiastes gives us a warning.  His words to us can be easily dismissed as cynicism, but the warning needs to be plumbed for wisdom.  The goods and things that attract us in life are, according to The Preacher “a breath,” something vapid and vaporous – the least of our considerations in life.  Perhaps, as a preacher, I need to take the theologian Reinhold Niebuhr’s words to heart.

I think there ought to be a club in which preachers and journalists could come together and have the sentimentalism of the one matched with the cynicism of the other. That ought to bring them pretty close to the truth.”[2]

Ah, the truth, that’s what we really ought to be about here, and that is what both Niebuhr and The Preacher are calling us to – to stare at the glum word that is described to us in Ecclesiastes, and to see there both truth and hope.  But what will get us out of this pessimistic point of view?  How can we see beyond our own greed, and the world’s cynicism?

The Common Death

The author of Psalm 49 has a similar point of view, but he brings it to a fulcrum, a balancing point.  Sometimes when being pessimistic about the world and the life that surrounds us, we believe that this is our own unique and special point of view.  This is especially true when we turn on the television and see people becoming ecstatically happy by the purchase of a deodorant, or a tube of toothpaste.  I am reminded of Pablo’s speech in Napoleon Dynamite when he is running for president of the school council.  “If you vote for me,” he declaims, “all your wildest dreams will come true.”  Our native distrust of what the world tries to offers us makes us distrust such words.  Where does this worldview come from?

Hear this, all peoples,
hearken, all who dwell in the world.
You human creatures, you sons of man,
together the rich and the needy.
My mouth speaks wisdom,
my heart’s utterance, understanding.
I incline my ear to a saying,
I take up with the lyre my theme.
Why should I fear in evil days,
when crime comes round me at my heels?
Who trust in their wealth and boast of their great riches –
yet they surely will redeem no man, will not give to God his ransom.
To redeem their lives is too dear, 
and one comes to an end forever.
Will he yet live forever? Will he not see the Pit?
For he sees the wise die,
both the fool and the stupid man perish,
and they abandon to others their wealth.[3] 

It sounds as though the psalmist and The Preacher are cousins of the mind.  Though the world is filled with greed, as Jesus points out in his parable in the Gospel, about the farmer with his barns full of wealth and value, there is a commonality that sometimes evades us – and that is death.  Both rich and needy, pessimist and optimist, man and woman, young and old – all of them face the grave.  It is at this point, as we face the riddle of living with or without things, that the author of The Letter to the Colossians comes to the rescue – taking the notion of death to a new and different place

A Baptismal Culture – a twist on death.

The Colossians answer to the riddle of life was to enhance its realities.  They were consumed by rituals, laws regarding food, and days, and seasons.  The sought the answer to the riddle in the Mystery Religions.  And the letter writer, writing under the name of Paul, stops them in their course.  He stops them with the idea of death.  In chapter 2 he writes:

“You were buried with him in baptism, in which you were also raised with him through faith in the power of God, who raised him from the dead.”[4]

And in today’s reading he continues that thought:

“If then you were raised with Christ, seek what is above, where Christ is seated at the right hand of God. Think of what is above, not of what is on earth. For you have died, and your life is hidden with Christ in God”[5]

The Preacher and the psalmist both speak of things balancing out in death – that it is our common end.  The writer to the Colossians sees death (and here we need to see through his eyes) sees death in Baptism.

Let me tell you the story of Helena.  My friend, Fr. Stephen Katsaris, a Greek Orthodox priest, invited me to Helena’s baptism.  At one point in the rite, she was stripped of her clothing and anointed with oil, slathered with oil, the light of the room glinted off her anointed body.  And then she was plunged beneath the waters of the font.  Not just once, but three times – “in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit!”  When she emerged from the ordeal she glistened – she was beyond clean.

That is the starting point – “you were buried with him in baptism”.  Even though we were all most likely dabbed with less than a tablespoon of water, yet in that moment we faced death – with Christ.  That is the starting point.  It gives us a different view of the world.  It makes us survivors of cynicism, of greed, of temptation, and anxiety.  It is our new name and being.

But the author of Colossians goes even further.  Not only are we to die with Christ (which brings us a new life) we are to put to death all that is earthly.  He gives us a list (Paul likes lists – as does the author writing in his name,) To death with impurity, passion, evil desire, and greed, to which he parenthetically adds, “which is idolatry.

Something happens when we do such a thing – remember our baptism, and consign the evils of our world to death.  Martin Luther, in his Small Catechism, writes about this aspect of baptism and what follows from it:

“What does such baptizing with water mean?
Such baptizing with water means that the old Adam in us should, by daily contrition and repentance, be drowned and die with all sins and evil lusts; and that a new man daily come forth and arise, who shall live before God in righteousness and purity forever.”

What makes you you?  Is it your name?  Your husband or your wife?  Is it what you have accumulated?  Is it what you have accomplished?  Such considerations need to be put away, according to The Preacher, the psalmist, and pseudo Paul.  Jesus is in the same company of agreement.  The common situation of life calls for a new self.  In that regard, the author of Colossians comes to a startling realization.  “In that renewal, there is no longer Greek and Jew, circumcised and uncircumcised, barbarian, Scythian, slave and free; but Christ is all and in all.

Each Sunday morning I bless baptismal water and place it in the font.  There it sits, awaiting your new self, dead to cynicism, greed, and anxiety.  Dip in your finger as a token of your whole self, and rise as a new person.  The Eucharistic prayer in Rite One puts it so well.

“And here we offer and present unto thee, O Lord, our selves,
our souls and bodies, to be a reasonable, holy, and living
 sacrifice unto thee.”

It is not what we have taken or earned, rather it is what we have given up.  In these actions of sacrifice we become something for God in Christ, and for the neighbor who needs us.

SDG


[1]        Ecclesiastes 1:1-2
[2]        Niebuhr, Reinhold, The Children of Light and the Children of Darkness, University of Chicago Press, Chicago, 1944
[3]       Alter, Robert (2009-10-19). The Book of Psalms: A Translation with Commentary, W. W. Norton & Company. Kindle Edition.

[4]        Colossians 2:12
[5]        Colossians 3:1-3