Sermon for the First Sunday of Advent, 29 November 2020

Saint Mark’s Episcopal Church

The First Sunday in Advent

29 November 2020

 

 

“Come!”

 

Isaiah 64:1-9

1 Corinthians 1:3-9

Mark 13:24-37

Psalm 80:1-7, 16-18

 

INI

 

Rend the heavens wide!

 

I spent several years of my life living in Missouri. There were the six years at Saint Paul’s High School and College where I went to boarding school, and then there were four years at Concordia Seminary in Saint Louis. During those years I often heard and began to understand the state’s nickname, “the Show Me State.” The culture there demands proof – show me the proof of what you are telling me. It has reached an unfortunate result in these days, as people distrusted the news about Covid19, demanding proof, and only getting it in a surge of sick people, and in record deaths. We pray for those who are ill, and the repose of the souls of those who have died.

 

This attitude, a very human attitude, we see in the scriptures. In the first reading from Isaiah, we have a human complaint that is all too common in the scriptures, especially in the history of Israel in the Hebrew Scriptures. Isaiah sees the following progress in his reception of Israel’s complaint. The process begins with a remembrance of God’s mercy. 

 

“The loving deeds of the Lord I will recall,

The glorious acts of the Lord,

Because of all the Lord has done for us,

The immense goodness to the house of Israel,

Which (God) has granted according to (God’s) mercy

And (God’s) many loving deeds.” – Isaiah 63:7

 

It is a delightful recounting of all that God has done, and we hear passages like it often in the Hebrew Scriptures, especially in the psalms. The recollection, however, does not end there – There is more.  What follows is confession, oddly one that reverses its intent and that blames God:

 

“Why do you make us wander, Lord, from your ways,

And harden our hearts so that we do not fear you?” – Isaiah 63:17a.

 

It is a strange confession, one that does not tie the sin to the sinner, but rather blames God for the confusion and difficulty of the time. Rather than looking to the consequences of their own faithlessness, these people look elsewhere. It is an attitude of selfishness that we might see in our own time as well. The final result in Isaiah’s progression of prayer is a heart-rending plea from the people. “Oh, that you would rend the heavens and come down, with the mountains quaking before you,” You may be familiar with an Advent hymn sung often in Lutheran Churches, “O Savior, Rend the Heavens Wide.” Here is the yearning for God to appear again, and to make things right. Here is an understanding of God, as not only the One who intervenes, but as the One who is Creator and Savior. 

 

“Yet, Lord, you are our father; 

We are the clay and you our potter:

We are all the work of your hand.” – Isaiah 64:7

 

The question then is, in this troublesome time, as we await Christ’s coming again, what shall we be molded by God to be? To add to the difficulty, as the Gospel for today so graciously tells us, “But about that day or hour no one knows, neither the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father.” It matches our own dilemma – when will Covid be over, when can we return to our normal lives, when can we be with those whom we love? And a similar wondering about how we shall be accompanies not only our actual lives in this time, but our liturgical lives as well.

 

Enriched in him

 

Paul is writing to the church in Corinth and gives thanks for them. In his address to them he recognizes in them the success of their political and cultural life – Corinth was wealthy and prosperous, just as we are. He also reminds them of the wealth of their spiritual gifts. These were gifts, just like ours, unrelated to physical things – something beyond money, buildings, and things. Paul recommends to us a style of waiting that knows that we are not lacking in any spiritual gift. 

 

As the people of God, we begin a period of waiting in Advent. This year we are well prepared for it, for we have been called in these days to be alone, in our waiting. We are apart in our longing. We are isolated in our prayers. We don’t know how long this pandemic will last, and yet God promises to be with us as we wait. Jesus gives us clues as well. It is a most appropriate example for you who live in what was a land of orchards. 

 

“From the fig tree learn its lesson: as soon as its branch becomes tender and puts forth its leaves, you know that summer is near. So also, when you see these things taking place, you know that he is near, at the very gates.” – Mark 13:28-29

 

Take the awareness with which you perceive daily life (when you watch TV, or your neighbors, or read the newspaper, or just observe things on a socially distanced walk) take that awareness and apply it to your spiritual life. Know when it is time to pray. Know when it is time to console a friend or neighbor. Know when it is time to meditate and keep silence. Know in your hunger for it, your love of the Eucharist. See and feel these things as you wait. It is Christ’s promise to gather us in, to redeem us, and to save us. And more than that, to gather in, redeem, and to save the outcast as well.

 

There is in the psalm for this morning, a passage that might make for a good prayer during this Advent – a prayer that you might say as you light the candles of your Advent Wreath. 

 

“Restore us, O Lord God of hosts;

Show the light of our countenance, and we shall be saved.”

 

Finally, there is a prayer that I have shared with you before. It is one that I love, and that I think is perfect for us and for you in this time of difficulty. I hope you will use it in your private prayer and in the prayers of the people of Saint Mark’s Church:

 

Lord God, you have called your servants to ventures of which we cannot see the ending, by paths as yet untrodden, through perils unknown. Give us faith to go out with good courage, not knowing where we go, but only that your hand is leading us and your love supporting us; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

 

SDG

 

 

 

 

Sermon for Thanksgiving Day, 26 November 2020

 

Preaching at  Saint Mark’s Church Thanksgiving Day 26 November 2020

 

“Who’s Invited?“

 

Deuteronomy 8:7-18
Psalm 65
II Corinthians 9:6-15
St. Luke 17:11-19

 

INI

 

Our custom at Thanksgiving, which we will not be able to do this year, is to travel to Texas, and there to join with family to visit, give thanks, and eat the joys of togetherness. The preciousness of being able to gather has come to a sharper focus in our time, a time when to travel, to gather, to embrace is not available to us. Yet we all shall attempt to keep the feast, to gather virtually, and to eat in solitude, but remember and give thanks in community.

The first reading from Deuteronomy minds us of the traditions of this day. When I was a child, the women of the altar guild of St. Peter’s Church in Monte Vista, Colorado, would gather sheaves of corn, pumpkins, gourds, autumn leaves, corn cobs, and decorate the altar for this day. It was a reminder of the abundance that God gives to the people. Like the people of Israel, the people of Monte Vista, and indeed ourselves, “were brought into a good land, a land with flowing streams, with springs and underground waters welling up in valleys and hills, a land of wheat and barley, of vines and fig trees and pomegranates, a land of olive trees and honey, a land where you may eat bread without scarcity, where you will lack nothing…You shall eat your fill and bless the Lord your God for the good land that (God) has given you.”[1] For the people of Monte Vista, however, one would have to add another precious fruit, the red McClure potato – the mainstay of this farming community’s economy. That is what comes to our mind when we think of thanksgiving – the abundance of good things that are available to us. The psalm for this day reminds us of this as well:

            “You crown the year with your goodness,

                        And your paths overflow with plenty.”[2]

Such is the tradition (and may I say, myth) of abundance in this country of ours. Abundance of food, of freedoms, of possibilities, of peace – we are taught and reminded to celebrate these things as Americans. As Christians, however, we need to be mindful of something else.

            In the Gospel for this day, the Evangelist Luke reminds us of something that is easily forgotten on this day: the uninvited. Luke clues us in to this in subtle ways as he tells the story of the ten lepers. Like many of us at Thanksgiving, Jesus was on a journey. It was not a journey home, however, but a journey to Jerusalem, where he would be called upon to face difficult things. In many respects, he himself was the uninvited, the outcast. Luke sets this story in “a region between Samaria and Galilee.” There is no such place in reality. Luke betrays his ignorance of the Palestinian countryside and regions, but also makes us keenly aware of not only a vision of the so-called Galilean backwater, but of the dismissal of the Samaritan people. He is met “at a distance”, (sound familiar?) by a band of lepers – and here we have another set of outcasts. They have a prayer of request, “Jesus, Master, have mercy on us.” They appeal to the “Master” a Greek word which implies authority and power. In this strange land, amongst these outcast people, what will the outcast Jesus do?

            Who will not be coming to your Thanksgiving dinner? Well, lots of people, because we are celebrating in a difficult time. But let me ask the question again, and think back to last year, or look forward to the hopes for next year. Who will not be coming to your Thanksgiving dinner? As I think back on the thanksgivings that I have celebrated with others in the past it has been largely family and an occasional guest who have been invited to the dinner. The day, in our imaginations, is one of family unity, or at least the unity of friends. The second reading might give us something to think about at this point. Paul writes to the Corinthians:

“The point is this: the one who sows sparingly will also reap sparingly, and the one who sows bountifully will also reap bountifully. Each of you must give as you have made up your mind, not reluctantly or under compulsion, for God loves a cheerful giver.”[3]

The sowing we are invited to do, must be just that – indiscriminate, broadly cast, abundant! And here is where the outcast comes in, the uninvited. They must receive of our bounty, which is really God’s bounty. Jesus dispenses grace upon these ten lepers, one of which was a Samaritan, a double outcast.

            Hot Meals[4], and programs like it, it are so important. Here, however, (and in this I preach to myself as well), it needs to be more than institutions that grant these mercies, it is we as individuals who must grant them as well. I had a companion priest teach me a lesson once, while walking along Shattuck Avenue in Berkeley. As we came up to someone begging on the street, he stopped, give his name, and asked theirs, and then after a brief conversation gave them some money for a meal. This happened several times as we proceeded along the avenue. Then, he stopped, but a bundle of small bills in my hand and said, “The next ones are yours.” In humility, I drank in the lesson – a hard one to learn, and even harder to do. In many respects my teacher was an outcast as well, for a variety of reasons – yet he did this. Jesus, the outcast, does it as well.

            When we are confronted with this story, we may be tempted to disdain the nine who do not give a proper thanksgiving to Jesus, who heals them. After all Jesus says no healing words, but just directs them to show themselves to the priest, as prescribed in the Law. One does come back, the Samaritan, and offers thanks, in which Jesus recognizes the Samaritan’s faith. What are we called upon to recognize in others, what faith, what needs, what healing? The remarkable words are, “Get up and go on your way.” Like Jesus, this leper is asked to continue the journey, as are we. 

            You have been invited to this feast, and yet you will not be able to eat or to drink. In this you will be like so many others who do not have the means to eat or to drink. We are, all of us nevertheless, bound to give thanks, to sow seed generously, and to recognize God’s works of mercy in our midst. The waters of Baptism, the words of Forgiveness, and the graces of the Eucharist are these works of mercy. In our Eucharistic Fast, forced on us by the pandemic, recognize in your hunger for the bread of life, the hunger of others, in your thirst for the cup of salvation, the thirsting of others. Listen to Paul as he quotes Psalms:

"He scatters abroad, he gives to the poor;

his righteousness endures forever."[5]

 

May we like Jesus, the outcast who gathered in those who were outcast, gather in and feed those who hunger and thirst – feeding them with the bread of life, as well as the bread made for our survival. Thanks be to God!

 

SDG

---

[1]     Deuteronomy 8:7-10, New American Bible translation.

[2]     Psalm 65:12, Book of Common Prayer

[3]     II Corinthians 9:6f.

[4]     “Hot Meals” is a monthly feeding program at Saint Mark’s Church, which has continued during the pandemic.

[5]     Psalm 112:9

Sermon for the Twenty-fourth Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 28 15 November 2020

 

 

Preaching at Saint Mark's Church

The Twenty-fourth Sunday after Pentecost 

Proper 28

15 November 2020

"The Day of the Lord"

Zephaniah 1:7,12-18
Psalm 90:1-8, (9-11), 12
1 Thessalonians 5:1-11
Matthew 25:14-30

 

INI

 

It is an odd coincidence that today, ten years ago, I preached my first sermon at Saint Mark’s Church as I began a term as Interim Rector. So it is with a great deal of joy that I return at this same time to speak and learn with you as we look at the readings for this Sunday. I can recall in my sermon at that time that I mentioned to you that we are in what I call Advent Shadow. The original season which originated in Gaul and then later in Spain and northern Italy was six weeks. Later it was reduced to five, then down to the four weeks that we know now. Some of the readings, however, remained the same – mirroring a darker pensive time that anticipated the second coming of Jesus. So, let’s take some time, during this period of waiting (Pandemic, Election, etc.) during our own time to see what our waiting as Christians might be like.

 

The readings for this day all seem to revolve around the notion of the Day of the Lord. A few words about that, first: The popular thought about the Day of the Lord in ancient times anticipated God’s intervention in human history, most particularly national history in which God would bring victory over enemies. That idea should not be unfamiliar to us in this day and age when political rhetoric seems to be centered on this notion that God would send some kind of messiah to rescue us from our sin (and here you substitute in your favorite or most despised social ill). The ancient prophets, however, found it necessary to disabuse people of their popular thought on the Day of the Lord. The prophet Amos wrote, “Woe to you who desire the day of the Lord! Why would you have the day of the Lord? It is darkness and not light.” Isaiah has a similar warning, “For the day of the Lord of hosts shall be upon every one that is proud and lofty, and upon every one that is lifted up; and they shall be brought low.” Here he anticipates Luke’s version of the beatitudes with is blessings and its curses, and in Mary’s song, the Magnificat, “he has cast down the mighty from their thrones, and has lifted up the lowly.” It was, I guess, a great reversal – a pause during which all could rethink their relationships with both God and neighbor.

 

Zephaniah, the author of our first reading has a stunning beginning to his poem on the Day of the Lord. “Be silent before the Lord God! For the day of the Lord is at hand.” Whenever there is a liturgical direction to be silent for a time, a general nervousness sets in, for we are forced into our own thoughts and not the motions, thoughts, or words of others. We are bound to confront our own self. Zephaniah goes own, however, and does not see the hopeful richness of introspection. He suspects that there is something else that needs to be confronted. He thinks that the real thoughts of people are: “The Lord will not do good, nor will God do harm.” Zephaniah suspects an absence of God, at least in the hearts of people. I have often wondered in these days if there is indeed a great silence, a great absence of God. God, neither here nor there.

 

Why does Zephaniah envision such a day of darkness? He fears that Judah has not asked of God, has not sought from God, necessary spiritual gifts. Zephaniah pictures God searching for a faithful people. “I will search Jerusalem with lamps.” As I read the commentators on these oracles, many suspect that the thing that was keeping Judah from her relationship with God was her success, her abundance. Zephaniah warns them, “Neither their silver nor their gold will be able to save them.” This is a good warning for our own time. Perhaps our waiting during this time of illness and political chaos should be directed at what we really need to ask of God. 

 

Which brings us to Paul and the Thessalonians. Paul wants his readers in the second lesson to forget about “the times and the seasons.” One can anticipate the coming of the Day of the Lord, but not know its particulars. It will come, as Paul says, “like a thief in the night.” Paul uses a wonderful light and darkness theme in his thoughts on the day of the Lord. He reminds the reader that they are children of the light, and therefore their waiting for the Day of the Lord needs to be informed by that notion. So, as we ask, like the Thessalonians, “What then shall we do?” we need to understand what is required of us as we wait, as we live life in expectation.

 

In last Sunday’s Gospel we read about the Virgins – those who prepared, and those who did not. The temptation here is to think badly of those who were ill prepared, and to lionize those that did. Paul takes a different tack as he looks at the question of how we ought to live during a period of waiting or expectation. Listen to this: “so that whether we are awake or asleep we may live with him.” It seems to be a more forgiving attitude than what we experienced in the parable. It allows for periods when we are less aware, when we are not being vigilant. Nevertheless, Paul pleads with us to keep and to be watchful. Watchful for what? On one level we need to be watchful for ourselves, for our own personal experience of the Day of the Lord. However, if we follow the great commandment, honor God, neighbor, and self, then our watchfulness will include those around us and their needs. That was Zephaniah’s advice when he writes in the second chapter, “Seek justice, seek humility.” That is how we ought to wait – with others.

 

Finally, there is another aspect to the waiting that we are invited to do as we anticipate the Day of the Lord. In the Gospel we read the parable about the servants who are left behind as the landowner (God) goes on a journey and is absent from them. The landowner endows them with wealth which he expects them to put to work – enabling more wealth. Usually, we look at this parable and our final thoughts and focus are on the servant who buried his endowment in the soil because he knew that the landowner “was a harsh man, reaping where he did not sow, and gathering where he did not scatter seed.” It’s a rather harsh judgment, but it would obtain for a great number of wealthy people both then and now. I think we ought to turn our attention to something else that may be affecting our ability to wait for the great Day of the Lord. That aspect is the absence of the landowner. I don’t think I’m alone in thinking or feeling that God is at a great distance both then, and now. In the midst of pestilence, and national doubt I strain to hear God’s voice, or to know God’s presence. That attitude is made even more acute with the absence of the Eucharist, and the Assembly that gathers around it and is made real within it. There is absence, and there are gifts that we have been given. Here it is helpful to understand the talents that are invested with the remaining servants as gifts – not necessarily money, but talent, wisdom, opportunity and the like. I am reminded of the attitude of the people that Zephaniah is writing about, “The Lord will not do god nor will he do harm.” In other words, the silence of God, God’s absence tempts us to disregard God’s will and way. If God is not looking, then we can become lazy about how we use the gifts that are given. 

 

The wealth that we rejoice in is not our silver, gold, stocks, bonds, property, or investments. The gifts that are left to us are our redemption and salvation, and in addition to that, life itself. Psalm 90 has a lesson to teach us about all that God has given us and will continue to give us. “So teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts to wisdom.” How will we use our days and the wisdom that God gives us for our own benefit and that of our neighbor? If God is quiet in our time, how have we been God’s voice and good news? We are, all of us, friend and enemy, loved one and stranger, we all wait in this time. Shall we then wait upon the God who sent the Son to save us, and shall we then love our neighbors as they wait as well? Let our actions and living be evidence of the great Day of the Lord. And let us begin, as Zephaniah suggests, with a great silence – a silence in which the Word of the Lord might be heard.

 

SDG