The Sixth Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 11, 21 July 2019

“Balancing”

II Kings 5:2-24

Psalm 15

Colossians 1:15-28

St. Luke 10:38-42

INI

Disciples as Dependents

Two Sundays ago, in the Gospel reading we heard of Jesus sending out seventy disciples (a perfect number) to make people aware that the Kingdom of God was near to them. What is interesting in this sending out is that Jesus sends them out in a diminished state, dependent upon the hospitality of others. They were to accept what was set before them, taking the bare minimum in support of there bodily needs. In this, Jesus prepares his disciples with the discipline born in the wilderness, in the wanderings of Israel, and in the return of the exiles. The examples of this dependency help us to understand what it means to follow – to go into a new land or place, a situation to which God has called us. Clearly the focus is on where we have been sent, and the message that we bring to that place. So, it is no surprise that the disciple, no matter how high or low, are focused on the message.

What about those who provide for dependent messengers? And so, it is that three strangers appear in Abraham’s camp. That they were angels (messengers) is not important right away. Abraham takes the initiative and offers them hospitality – water for refreshment and bathing, a place to rest, and a bit of bread. Later there would be the luxuries of a meal – veal and milk curds. The bulk of the reading in the lectionary acquaints us with the details of Abraham and Sarah’s hospitality to the stranger. So, our focus is here first. 

In the Gospel we hear of Martha, who greets Jesus by the roadside in the village where she lived with her sister. Martha understands the rule of hospitality and invites Jesus, and presumably the other disciples, into her home. She quickly works to make that hospitality real, as she observes the ancient requirements of the road and wilderness. And she serves as an example to the disciples, preparing them for their duties as dependent disciples.

In the psalm for today, the author poses both a question and an answer that may guide us in our attention to the texts for this Sunday. The psalmist asks, “LORD, who will sojourn in Your tent, who will dwell on Your holy mountain?” In other words, who will be the dependent stranger seeking God’s hospitality? And then, just as quickly he or she provides the answer, “The one who walks blameless and does justice and speaks the truth in their heart.” The psalmist attempts to get at the heart of righteousness, as does Jesus as he guides his disciples amongst the people that they are sent to proclaim the kingdom to. 

Righteousness, it appears, was a common objective in the ancient world, and it was closely aligned not so much with the knowledge one had of the heavens and the gods as how one was responsible to fellow human beings. This week while perusing a new collection of Ancient Egyptian Literature[1], I chanced upon a monumental inscription from the tomb of Nefer-Seshem-Re, called Sheshi. In it he describes a righteous life.

“I judged between two so as to content them,

I rescued the weak from one stronger than he

As much as was in my power

I gave bread to the hungry, clothes,

I brought the boatless to land,

I buried him who had no son,

I made a boat for him who lacked one,

I respected my father, I pleased my mother,

I raised their children,”[2]

It is a grander view of hospitality than just food, drink, and rest. It is an attentiveness to the neighbor, much like we read about in the story of the Good Samaritan, last Sunday. Discipleship, it seems, is an attentiveness to all that encompasses our neighbor. The dependent disciples see the needs and dependencies of a fellow human being.

Disciples as Attentive

In the Divine Liturgy celebrated in the Orthodox Churches, the Liturgy of Saint John Chrysostom, at the Gospel, there is a dialogue between priest, people, and deacon and people. It goes like this:

Priest:         Wisdom. Arise. Let us hear the Holy Gospel. Peace be with all.

People:        And with your spirit.

Deacon:      The reading is from the Holy Gospel according to (Matthew, Mark, Luke or John).

Priest:         Let us be attentive.

People:        Glory to You, O Lord, glory to You.[3]

The word that captures the moment for me is the priest’s injunction, “Let us be attentive. And with this we come to the second part of the Gospel for today.

The reverie about Martha’s hospitality, indeed Abraham’s and Sarah’s as well cannot last long. Jesus’ gently chides Martha about getting lost in her hospitality and focuses on Mary’s attentiveness to the message that Jesus is bringing. We have the same situation in the first reading. The strangers, after their sumptuous meal, bring the attention of their hosts to a promise that they bring (and here we discover them as angels, or as the Orthodox see it, the Godhead itself). They call Abraham and Sarah’s attention to the message, the promise that they bring, “I will surely return to you in due season, and your wife Sarah shall have a sun.” This is a big surprise to the woman who thought herself barren and to the man who though he would have no heir. The message is of hope – the Kingdom of God is near.

What would I like for you to take home with you today? It is simply that following Jesus, being a disciple of his is a delicate balance of these two aspects: hospitality and attentiveness to the message all done in the ancient virtues of righteousness. The righteousness God provides to us, for God sees us righteous beings, objects of God’s love. The other two aspects are our responsibility. We see both these elements in our liturgy – examples of what life must be like for those who follow Jesus. Hospitality in the Eucharist, and attentiveness to the message, the Gospel. As you continue to walk into the future, I hope that these elements will inform the steps you plan to take. If these elements were a reality, a virtue in our country and in our society our times might be different. 

It won’t be easy. Sarah laughed at the promise, and I am certain that Martha and countless other women who have been marginalized by the church were offended and diminished. Our giving to the stranger, our attentiveness to the stranger, our good news for the stranger, this is what Jesus has asked us to give.

SDG

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[1]     Lichtheim. M. ed. (2019), Ancient Egyptian Literature, University of California Press, Berkeley

[2]     Ibid, page 49f.

[3]     https://www.goarch.org/-/the-divine-liturgy-of-saint-john-chrysostom

The Fourth Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 9, 7 July 2019

Preaching at Saint Mark's Church, Berkeley, California
The Fourth Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 9
7 July 2019

“Sent”

II Kings 5:2-24

Isaiah 66:10-14

Psalm 66:10-14

Galatians 6: [1-6[ 7-16

St. Luke 10:1-11, 16-20

INI

Sent as an invalid

In the revised common lectionary, which we use here, during the period of Ordinary Time (you can tell when that is when the altar is adorned with green) there are optional readings for every Sunday. Track One’s first reading is a continuous reading out of the Hebrew Scriptures, the idea being that over time you would hear the continuity of the biblical witness. The same technique is used with the second reading that moves in continuous fashion through the Pauline corpus. Track One is not used here, at least in my experience. Track Two has the same second reading and gospel as Track One, but the first reading is thematically matched with that of the gospel for the day. This morning, however, the first reading from Track One is so important to our purposes this morning, that I have asked xxxx to read it to you now.

II Kings 5:1-14

Naaman, commander of the army of the king of Aram, was a great man and in high favor with his master, because by him the Lord had given victory to Aram. The man, though a mighty warrior, suffered from leprosy. Now the Arameans on one of their raids had taken a young girl captive from the land of Israel, and she served Naaman's wife. She said to her mistress, "If only my lord were with the prophet who is in Samaria! He would cure him of his leprosy." So Naaman went in and told his lord just what the girl from the land of Israel had said. And the king of Aram said, "Go then, and I will send along a letter to the king of Israel."

He went, taking with him ten talents of silver, six thousand shekels of gold, and ten sets of garments. He brought the letter to the king of Israel, which read, "When this letter reaches you, know that I have sent to you my servant Naaman, that you may cure him of his leprosy." When the king of Israel read the letter, he tore his clothes and said, "Am I God, to give death or life, that this man sends word to me to cure a man of his leprosy? Just look and see how he is trying to pick a quarrel with me."

But when Elisha the man of God heard that the king of Israel had torn his clothes, he sent a message to the king, "Why have you torn your clothes? Let him come to me, that he may learn that there is a prophet in Israel." So Naaman came with his horses and chariots and halted at the entrance of Elisha's house. Elisha sent a messenger to him, saying, "Go, wash in the Jordan seven times, and your flesh shall be restored, and you shall be clean." But Naaman became angry and went away, saying, "I thought that for me he would surely come out, and stand and call on the name of the Lord his God, and would wave his hand over the spot, and cure the leprosy! Are not Abana and Pharpar, the rivers of Damascus, better than all the waters of Israel? Could I not wash in them, and be clean?" He turned and went away in a rage. But his servants approached and said to him, "Father, if the prophet had commanded you to do something difficult, would you not have done it? How much more, when all he said to you was, `Wash, and be clean'?" So, he went down and immersed himself seven times in the Jordan, according to the word of the man of God; his flesh was restored like the flesh of a young boy, and he was clean.

So then, what is the point of having you hear this familiar story of the Aramean general who was asked to go wash in the Jordan? Part of it might be the role of the young woman, a captive and slave of the Arameans, who none-the-less not only does not abandon her religion but risks in the midst of a precarious situation by inserting herself into her master’s intimate problems. She recommends her religious holy man, Elisha, as a possible solution to the general’s dilemma – his having some sort of dread skin disease. I could go on how her example might be an example to all of us in our need to share what it is we believe with those who need healing or by being someone to listen to their needs. There is more than this, however, in this reading.

It’s really quite minor, but it also serves as an example to us. The general is sent (the Greek verb here is apostellofrom which we get the word “apostle”) he is sent to do a simple thing. Elisha directs him to wash in the Jordan River. There are objections, because he insists that his own national waters are just as good as, if not superior to the Jordan. Does this sound familiar. Again, his servants take a risk, and remind him of the simple task that he has been given. 

Sometimes, when we are ill or in the need of healing, we are asked to do a simple thing, but our pride gets in the way. That is what is happening to a friend of mine at this point in his life. The simple needs of reordering life so that he might become healthy are made difficult by his pride, or perhaps his denial. Thus, the healing is prolonged by an emotional response to what is needed.

Sent to a difficult place

Sometimes we are sent to difficult places to not only be healed but to heal as well. Jesus asks seventy of his disciples to go out and to announce the Gospel, to heal not only themselves but others with the Good News. He sends them out diminished, without anything but the most basic of necessities. He sends them to places that will receive them, and places that will not. He sends them to people who will listen, and to people who will turn away. He sends them out as beggars and homeless! We don’t know that in our culture, where monks, religious, and clergy live quite well. In Asia it’s a different story, where the sight of a begging monk is common and expected. Thus, it’s a difficult sending out for some of us, taking so little for the task.

And, as we learned last Sunday, sometimes the sending to a difficult place is a difficult situation being sent to us. What that troubled young woman asked for were the essential parts of our faith. “Give me some water!” And when we responded with the water one would drink it soon became clear that she was talking about baptismal water – water that heals. Later it was another demand, “Where’s the bread and wine?” Again, more than food but rather a healing meal. It was a healing that we could not accomplish – others would be more equipped to do that. Perhaps, though, it was a healing for us – a realization that we have things here that people need. Water for healing, bread and wine to assuage spiritual hunger – these are common things for us. 

The seventy come back from their mission boasting at their success in casting out demons. Jesus will have none of it. He says, “I watched Satan fall from heaven like a flash of lightning. See, I have given you authority to tread on snakes and scorpions, and over all the power of the enemy; and nothing will hurt you. Nevertheless, do not rejoice at this, that the spirits submit to you, but rejoice that your names are written in heaven.” The spirits don’t seem to submit to us all the time, or in the manner we think that they should. Sometimes words of peace given to a troubled soul are lost on that soul. But you, your name is written in heaven. Again, I think Maria had an understanding of this. “Call me by my name; say my name!” The demand was not unfamiliar with the faith and her status before God. Her name is written in heaven as well as yours and mine.

Sent as a healer

I’d like to look at the real first reading for this morning, the reading from Third Isaiah, in which he pictures Jerusalem as a nursing mother – a provider of nourishment but who has her own needs. God is aware of her needs, our needs, Maria’s needs, the guy on the sidewalk’s needs. “As a mother comforts her child, so I will comfort you.” It was our world that visited us last Sunday, sick, needy, forsaken, yearning, angry, and comfortless. The question that we need to ask is, “Is this place, is this Jerusalem, the mother to those who are needy?” If we are apostles, then we are “sent ones” sent to heal and to comfort. God knows there is plenty of opportunity. I think we are sent to give witness to the call that Christians have to heal and to dare to heal in a world that seems to have turned its face away from what Christ has asked us to be. 

Isaiah, unlike many in our culture, sees the city as a place of salvation and healing. “You shall be comforted in Jerusalem.” The doing of that will be difficult and wrenching at times. So perhaps we are called to heal one another as we struggle with our being sent out to the difficult places of our time. The young girl in Aram, Namaan, Elisha, the Seventy, the whole of Jerusalem all saw the challenge of being God’s agent and God’s good news in times that were challenging and difficult. So, let us wash ourselves in the remembrance of our baptism. Let us be fed with the body and blood of Christ, and let us continue to be sent, to ourselves, to our neighbors, to our supposed enemies. Let us be sent to all that God has shown to us as the plentiful harvest.

SDG

Some Thoughts on the First Sunday after the Gerasene Demoniac

Some Thoughts on the First Sunday after the Gerasene Demoniac

A couple of words of explanation are due anyone who chooses to read this reflection on the experiences of this day, 30 June 2019, The Third Sunday after Pentecost. The first is that last Sunday’s Gospel, Saint Luke 8::26-29, is the account of Jesus’ healing the so-called “Gerasene Demoniac” a man possessed by demons who is healed by Jesus. The second is that this morning at Saint Mark’s Church in Berkeley, the liturgy was interrupted in its entirety by a very troubled young woman. These thoughts are a way of my coming to grips with the experience she provided for us this morning and understanding it in the light of the Gospel reading for the Sunday prior. 

When I say the word “Gospel” in my preaching or in casual conversation, it strikes me as a gentle thing – the “good news”. And we and I tend to think on Jesus’ actions in the Gospels as being gentle, restrained, kind – except when they are not such as the cleansing of the Temple, or his words to the disciples when he was interrupted by his family. The Gospel, in truth, can be tough. Knowing its insights and living them can be almost disturbing.

The connections of the young woman this morning, and last Sunday’s Gospel are remarkable. Her first interruption came after the sermon as she stood resolutely at the baptismal font and made a demand for water. The reaction was quick – here is a bottle of water, here is a cup of water. But no, she wanted water. The priest understood, I think, she wanted baptism. Later she would demand bread and wine. The pulse and pace of the liturgy were too much for her as her needs were immediate. More about that later, however. Here was a troubled person. It would be unkind and unfair to call her “the demoniac” (we don’t think in those terms these days) but the behaviors and demands bore a resemblance. “Call me by my name,” she shouted several times. She doubted the authenticity of the priest, and the church itself. It was a stand-off. What would Jesus do?

This is where I felt as though I had stepped out of my body and was viewing the situation well apart from the action, and wondering what the Gospel, or the liturgy had to do with all that was going on. Some sat in their pews, waiting for normalcy to return. Others gathered with the young woman at the font, attempting to comfort her and to meet her needs. Others looked at the situation for what it was – a troubled person who certainly needed bread and wine and water and yet more than that. She needed help and healing. The question was one of how to intervene.

My focus kept being drawn in so many directions. The liturgy, especially the Eucharistic Prayer demanding my attention, the police at the door waiting to be of service, a visiting priest calming and praying with the young woman, the medical doctor observing the melt-down of a personality and wanting to get her aid, the visiting organist wondering what to do, the woman holding the hands of the young woman, those gathered with her at the font, and those sitting in the pews, the other priests in attendance standing by, just in case.

For me the question was one of meeting her needs both spiritual and physical/mental. She was wanting an immediacy that could not be afforded her. The quiet of Jesus’ healing seemed to be missing here. It wasn’t quiet. It was angry, demanding, soul-wrenching, and loud. It was a demand for attention, as she stood at the altar, now, banging her hands on the mensa. What would Jesus have done? Demanding and riveting her attention was not possible. Perhaps it was in the hands of the visiting priest, and the other woman at the font who comforted, allowing time to pass so that physical aid could be given. The spiritual aid seemed vapid and ineffectual, and yet I wonder. 

Perhaps this was a visit by an angel, or better yet the Holy Spirit, demanding that we understand ourselves and what we could offer and how we could aid. A mighty wind had blown into the nave and chancel of Saint Mark’s Church. Next Sunday I will gather with others from St. Mark’s to see what lessons were learned, how Christ may have been served, and what will again be demanded of us. The young woman was taken away and is now, I hope, receiving the help that she so desperately needs. The question, however, still remains, "Where will we go from here?" In the prior Sunday's Gospel Jesus asks the name of the man/demon, and he replies, "My name is legion." Legion indeed, so many people needing aid and healing in our society. We cannot sit idly by.

Homily on the Second Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 7, 23 June 2019

“Enemies”

The Second Sunday after Pentecost

Proper 7

23 June 2019

Trinity+St. Peter’s Episcopal Church

San Francisco, California

I Kings 19:1-15a

Psalm 42/43

Galatians 3:23-29

St. Luke 8:16-39

INI

It has been a while since I have stood in this place and expounded on the Scriptures to you – and you’ve grown and merged in the meanwhile, so to some of you I am a stranger. First of all, it is an honor to be here, especially since on this day I celebrate the 48^thanniversary of my ordination. It was here, amongst you, however, that I made life-changing decisions about moving from the Lutheran Church to the Episcopal Church. I have so many to thank, but in this regard hold David Forbes, Evan Ardley, Bishop Otis Charles, and James Tramel for their encouragement to me. It is a transition that I welcomed and am grateful for. 

Secondly, one of the things that helps a preacher preach is that intimate knowledge that he or she has of those who will be listening to his wrestling with the word. Too much time has passed for me to know what your issues are, how you are thinking now, and what future visions you might have. So I will leap into the readings seeing what I find. It will be your judgment as to whether or not my gleanings are helpful to your journey. I think that it is time for a prayer to the Holy Spirit that she guide both preacher and congregation in this endeavor.

The title for this sermon is “Enemies”. Let me say at the outset that I have chosen this title because that is what we have all become at this period of time in our country. As I reencounter old classmates from boarding school, college, and seminary, I discover that we are set against each other on so many issues. Some of that is the work of elements in our society who profit from our quarrels. Some of it is the economics of our time, and a great deal of it is an attitude of blame toward others that seems to infect all of us. The readings have a sense of enemy as well – Ahab and Jezebel against Elijah, Jesus against the demons, the possessed man against the demons, and the people who find Jesus’ healing of the man fearsome and difficult. So then the question becomes, “Who are our, yours, mine, enemies?

I could not escape this particular take on these readings because as I read them, I realized that I have often taken the stance of the righteous man against the others. It’s not a healthy position. I can remember in the early struggles in the Church regarding women, and then regarding LGBTQ people, that I saw myself on the right side. And I was. Unfortunately, that realization is accompanied by a characterization of all others as being wrong. The difficulty with that is that conversation, words, communication all stop in the face of such an attitude.

Prior to the first reading Elijah sets up a contest between the Ba’alim – the gods of Canaan and Phoenicia (the gods of Jezebel) and YHWH. When YHWH wins the contest, Elijah then goes on to slaughter the priests of the Ba’alim. So much for ecumenism. We might give Elijah an out for serving the “true God”, however the conversation between the religions of the Levant and Yahwism, and Persia and Yahwism would go on, each influencing the other. The growth was in the conversation.

Luke relates the story of the man possessed by demons for a variety of reasons. He wants us to see Jesus operating in the territory of the enemy. The Gerasenes are not Jews and do not honor the traditions of the Jews. Witness the herd of pigs that are present in the story – First clue that this is not a Jewish story. Luke wants us to see Jesus’ appeal even in a foreign situation, with a foreign people. And what does Jesus come to do with them – healing.

We might be put off a bit when Jesus refuses the man’s request to follow him. Jesus sends him back to his own community not because he is not welcome in the Jesus Community, but because that community including him is welcomed into the larger community that wants to follow Jesus. 

Luke would be alarmed at how we treat the stranger and the foreigner. He would be railing at the atrocities at our southern border. We need to have our minds challenged about who our fellow travelers are. Here, in this story, it is the foreigner, the mentally ill, the dispossessed. Yesterday I had lunch with cousins, newly met. We are second cousins, related through my Großmama Hiller’s family. As we got to know one another we shared what we do in life. Kokyo said to me, “You come from a long line of Lutheran clergy, don’t you?” That is indeed true, and I related how my husband Arthur always talks about this as the “family racket.” My sister Bonnie corrected the situation. “It’s the family business!” She replied. There was a silence and then Kokyo said, “I’m a Buddhist priest.” Another silence and then all of us muttered, “The family business.”

The questions that Christians and other religious people need to ask is, “What are our connections?” The question that Americans of all political stripes need to ask is “What are our connections?” The question that Christians of the various denominations need to ask is “What are our connections?” What is our common vision of God?

In the first reading Elijah, running away from the wrath of his enemies Ahab and Jezebel, goes up to the mountain, Sinai. Surely God would be there. And he waits. There is a great wind, but no God. There is an earthquake, but no God. There was a fire (are you recognizing Pentecost in this) but no God. Finally, there was the sound of sheer silence.

We complain in our time that God is silent. God seems to be silent in the face of evil and difficult times. Perhaps we are being called to profoundly listen to the silence, for I believe in the silence there is an answer that comes to us as we listen deeply and boldly. Perhaps we need to have the words of Paul break into our meditative silence and remind us that there is no longer Jew, or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female. What might we add to that list of potential enemies? He says that we are, all of us, heirs according to the promise – the promise given Abraham. 

Let me tell you a story. When I was in Seminary there was a fight between the right and left in the Lutheran Church – Missouri Synod. The majority of the faculty at the seminary was against a few conservatives who were making life quite difficult for all of us. One day at the community mass, I was sitting next to my Hebrew professor, and in this liturgy, prior to the passing of the peace the celebrant would quote Jesus. “If when you are offering your gift, you suddenly remember that you have a grievance with your brother, leave your gift where it is, make peace with your brother, and then offer your gift.” We all passed the peace, and my professor, after offering the peace, left the chapel. Later I sought him out. “Why did you leave?” I asked. He said, “I had to go make peace with another professor. I could not receive the Eucharist until I did.” It is a lesson that I have never forgotten. I bequeath it to you as well.

SDG

Homily on the Sunday of the Passion, Palm Sunday, 14 April 2019

Luke 19:28-40

Psalm 118:1-2, 19-29

Isaiah 50:4-9a

Psalm 31:9-16

Philippians 2:5-11

St. Luke 22:14 – 23:56

“True Joy”

INI

In my blog on the lectionary, I advised preachers not to step into the pulpit this day – the Passion According to Luke is an elegant sermon in and of itself. It needs no commentary. But there’s my name in the bulletin, so I will give you a brief homily on the Passion, and what I think are aspects that are overlooked in our Psalm Sunday, Passion Sunday preaching.

Once, while having dinner with friends, one of whom was a priestly colleague, she described to me what they were doing in their church for Palm Sunday. It was to be just that – all Palms, no Passion. All triumph, no sorrow or grim glances at the Crucified One. I hesitated for a moment and then just said it, “That’s just wrong!” I retorted. In that moment I think I destroyed a relationship, but I was firm in my conviction that to skip the passion on this day is to miss a great opportunity, a great juxtaposition of event and emotion. 

To be honest, the scenes of the day, the entrance into Jerusalem, and the trial and execution of Jesus, are a mixed lot. One is not all joy, and the other is not all sorrow. For those who think that Palm Sunday is all joy and triumph, there is the forgotten reality that Jesus goes to Jerusalem, not to enter as king, but because Jerusalem is the place that kills the prophets. Jesus the prophet sets his face like flint and goes to Jerusalem. At one point in Luke’s Gospel Jesus reminds us in the Gospel for the Second Sunday in Lent, 

“Yet today, tomorrow, and the next day I must be on my way, because it is impossible for a prophet to be killed outside of Jerusalem.' Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it! How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing!”[1]

Dr. Walter Brueggemann, in a recent speech to attendees at the Sojourners 2018 Summit for Change gives us a clue as to Jesus’ real agendum. He speech was titled, “Jesus Acted Out the Alternative to Empire.” He said, “The second task of prophetic imagination that I could identify is that we have to pronounce the truth about the force of the totalism that contradicts the purpose of God.”[2]The palms, the singing, the garments scattered on the roadway deceive us if we are looking for Jesus’ real purpose. The triumph of the morning is dark. It is a confrontation with the powers that be – the state, the church, and the culture. It’s a familiar situation.

And then there is the Passion Narrative with its awful realities – or is there more, something totally different? In his book on Luke’s Passion Narrative, Peter Scaer argues for a different lens through which we might observe the Crucified One[3]. He argues that Luke in his sophistication, uses an ancient Greco-Roman model to talk about the death of Jesus, and compares it to the aspects of the death of Socrates, among others. Luke abandons the “weak Jesus” of Matthew and Mark, and opts for a strong, noble Jesus who boldly goes to his death. Dr. Scaer writes, “Within the New Testament, Luke-Acts stands at the forefront of Christian apologetics. Luke was intent on demonstrating that Christianity did not arise ‘in a corner’, but was a proud, indeed ancient religion, whose founder was an honorable benefactor and savior.”[4]

Why am I arguing for all of this? There are some reasons and some hopes. First, that in honoring this day and these events we need to honor them in their totality, in all of their aspects. Yes, we can rejoice with our palms, but yet understand the intent of the one whom we hope to honor. That it is alright to have sorrow – to weep with Peter, and to keep watch with Mary, but also to see what the Centurion saw – the noble man giving up his life on the cross. Secondly, we need to bind these joys and sorrows to our own lives and our own circumstances – our own joys and sorrows. We need to know the true value of the Incarnation, the fleshiness of God in Jesus. We need to recognize his sharing our own difficulties and our own circumstances. Read the passion and see the human being at the center of the story – not just some divine character floating above it all, but rather God caught in the flesh just like you and I. Finally, we need to hear in the Passion a challenge. God is calling us to something different in the world, and it is summed up in a man giving it all up on a cross. The “giving up” that hopefully accompanied us during Lent was, I hope, more than chocolate, but rather a giving up of our hopelessness, and a taking on a life lived in hope. In Luke, the noble Jesus says from the cross to one who is sharing his humiliation, “Today you will be with me in paradise.” If the crucifixion embarrasses you, take a second look, and find hope, love, and nobility there.

SDG

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[1]     Luke 13:31-35

[2]     https://sojo.net/articles/walter-brueggemann-jesus-acted-out-alternative-empire?fbclid=IwAR2_lSsP5-Tg19CZWuk9KJzXlObn6QdVQWESOpQh_tQb628uhwK56g6mhkg

[3]     Scaer, P. (2005), The Lukan Passion and the Praiseworthy Death, Sheffield Phoenix Press, Sheffield, UK, 155 pages.

[4]     Ibid. page 3

Homily at Evensong for the First Sunday in Lent, 10 March 2019

Readings:

Deuteronomy 8:1-10

Be careful to observe this whole commandmentthat I enjoin on you today, that you may live and increase, and may enter in and possess the land which the LORD promised on oath to your ancestors.Remember how for these forty years the LORD, your God, has directed all your journeying in the wilderness,so as to test you by affliction, to know what was in your heart: to keep his commandments, or not.He therefore let you be afflicted with hunger, and then fed you with manna,a food unknown to you and your ancestors, so you might know that it is not by bread alone that people live, but by all that comes forth from the mouth of the LORD.The clothing did not fall from you in tatters, nor did your feet swell these forty years.So you must know in your heart that, even as a man disciplines his son, so the LORD, your God, disciplines you.Therefore, keep the commandments of the LORD, your God, by walking in his ways and fearing him. For the LORD, your God, is bringing you into a good country, a land with streams of water, with springs and fountains welling up in the hills and valleys,a land of wheat and barley, of vines and fig trees and pomegranates, of olive trees and of honey,a land where you will always have bread and where you will lack nothing, a land whose stones contain iron and in whose hills you can mine copper.But when you have eaten and are satisfied, you must bless the LORD, your God, for the good land he has given you.

Mark 2:18-22

The disciples of John and of the Pharisees were accustomed to fast.People came to him and objected, “Why do the disciples of John and the disciples of the Pharisees fast, but your disciples do not fast?”Jesus answered them, “Can the wedding guests fast^* while the bridegroom is with them? As long as they have the bridegroom with them, they cannot fast.But the days will come when the bridegroom is taken away from them, and then they will fast on that day.No one sews a piece of unshrunken cloth on an old cloak. If he does, its fullness pulls away, the new from the old, and the tear gets worse.

Likewise, no one pours new wine into old wineskins. Otherwise, the wine will burst the skins, and both the wine and the skins are ruined. Rather, new wine is poured into fresh wineskins.”

Homily:

“Fasting”

We have two contrasting readings this evening that circle around the notion of fasting. Fasting was in the Old Testament not a way of distancing oneself from the world but rather of repenting, literally turning around to set one’s face toward God and returning to God. In the second reading for this evening we meet Jesus and his disciples being confronted over the whole idea of fasting. It seems that Jesus wasn’t doing it right, at least in the thoughts of the Pharisees and the disciples of John the Baptist who have questioned Jesus about how he and his disciples fast. There was an ancient pattern of fasting (repenting) on the Day of Atonement. The practice of fasting grew in time, so that by the seventh century fasting was being promoted at last four times a year. By the time of the Pharisees, fasting was done twice weekly. It was hoped by fasting, the return of the Messiah would come. The Kingdom of God would be renewed.

Jesus reminds his accusers that one does not fast while the Bridegroom is present. Indeed, in ancient Israel fasting was actually a time for celebration. Jesus thinks that rather than hoping for the coming of the Kingdom, fasting should celebrate the presence of the Kingdom now, the actually of God-with-us. In the midst of renewal, old ways may not be effective. So, are we thwarting the kingdom by encouraging fasting in Lent? 

Perhaps the Deuteronomist can help us set a platform from which we can apprehend Jesus’ vision of fasting and discipline. The writer, looking back at the history and journey of the people of Israel, seeks to remind them of a tremendous gift that was given them. “For the LORD, your God, is bringing you into a good country, a land with streams of water, with springs and fountains welling up in the hills and valleys,a land of wheat and barley, of vines and fig trees and pomegranates, of olive trees and of honey,a land where you will always have bread and where you will lack nothing,” Like Israel we live in a land of plenty, and like Israel, we are bidden to give thanks to God for the creation of such a gift of abundance. In the face of such a gift we may be called to give up some of the plenty that has first been given us. As the Deuteronomist says, “But when you have eaten and are satisfied, you must bless the LORD, your God, for the good land he has given you.”Perhaps fasting is the passage to almsgiving – a way to share the wealth God has blessed us with. We get the gift of discipline and other get the gifts of the earth. Can you see the Kingdom of God in that?

Sermon for the First Sunday in Lent, 10 March 2019

Preaching at Saint Mark's Church

The First Sunday in Lent

10 March 2019

Deuteronomy 26:1-11

Psalm 91:1-2, 9-16

Romans 10:8b-13

St. Luke 4:1-13

“Living With”

INI

I.

I bought it several weeks, even months ago. I had seen it advertised, playing at the Embarcadero Cinema, but never got around to attending or seeing it. So, when it became available for purchase, I added it to my collect. Friday night, after a long day, and home alone, I decided to finally watch it and discovered that it was the perfect entry into Lent. The film is called Andrei Rublev, after the famous 15^thCentury icon writer. The film, made in 1969, was directed by Andrei Tarkovsky and was co-written with Andrei Konchalovsky. The version I watched was a beautiful restoration of the film. The photography is quite lovely, reminiscent of Pasolini – indeed, one of the chapters is called “The Passion According to Rublev” and bears some similarities to Pasolini’s The Gospel According to Saint Matthew. There is a fascination with the faces of common people, and the plight of those living in mediaeval Russia. Not every one of the chapters, there are eight of them, deals with the details of Rublev’s life. Some do. The remainder, however, paint the rich context of his life. 

Why Rublev and Lent? What fascinated me about the film, and what fascinates me about Lent is the journey which introduces us to Rublev, and the journey that beckons to us as we begin this Lenten season. A journey is more than a destination – something to be endured until we reach the place that we have set out to achieve. A journey is not only destination, but the context of all the places we visit as we move onto the journey’s end. The film gives us a clue at it’s very beginning with a man attempting flight in a bag of skins filled with hot air. His courageous escape becomes an image for Rublev, the monk who needs to find his way.

II.

Meanwhile, back at the Lectionary, we meet Israel making its way from slavery and suffering in Egypt to a destination of hope and prosperity. Israel’s fate and journey are encapsulated in the verse from the First Reading that is said at each Seder, a reminder of the journey that is celebrated in that meal. “A wandering Aramean was my ancestor; he went down into Egypt and lived there as an alien, few in number, and there he became a great nation, mighty and populous.” The point of the reading is not just that, for it celebrates the arrival at a fertile land, a land of milk and honey, that will make Israel a prosperous nation. The writer or editor who is putting together the ancient story so that the Israelites who have either entered into exile or who have returned from exile might know how to live. This section deals with the first fruits that are due back to God, who gave them initially to the people. What has this to do with Lent? It is the rule of thanksgiving. On Ash Wednesday, the priest is asked to announce this to the people, 

“I invite you, therefore, in the name of the Church, to the observance of a holy Lent, by self‑examination and repentance; by prayer, fasting, and self‑denial; and by reading and

meditating on God’s holy Word.”

It is our privilege during this season to be the giver of alms – to provide for those who have little. In the film we are reminded of this responsibility in the scenes at the monasteries – who receive the travelers, who provide provisions, and who provide a place for rest and sleep. Now what shall I do in my Lenten discipline as I look at the need that surrounds me in the city?

III.

There are segments in the film that are contrastive, that seek define each other through their differences. One involves a commission to paint the Last Judgment. The other is a raid by Tartar war party – there’s politics involved, and Andrei is involved in the complexities of both. The contrast is between Andrei’s sense of God’s mercy, so profound that he does not want to paint a last judgment. That gentleness of spirit is then challenged by the Tartar raid, instigated by the brother of the Grand Prince, a Russian, that sees the death of fellow artists and common people living in the city of Vladimir. 

If in our practice of Lent, we truly look at what motivates us as individuals, and what seems to be the impetus in our society, we can like Andrei be confused by what moves and tempts us in our life, and what differs in our so-called Christian society. Paul speaks to this in the reading from Romans where he sees that all of us are called by God to a grace that ought to free us from the temptation of discrimination. “For there is no distinction between Jew and Greek, the same Lord is Lord of all and is generous to all who call upon him.” Andrei greets this contrasting graciousness of God which he longs to see, and the cruelty of human beings exercised on one another with a vow of silence. He will not speak. He will not paint. 

I wonder what draws Jesus out into the wilderness following his baptism. Luke tells us that Jesus is “full of the Holy Spirit.” And what we see if forty days and forty nights of silence until he is challenged by Satan. The silence of Jesus, the silence of Andrei, perhaps we too ought to be drawn into a lengthy silence which draws our mind into a contemplation of how we as individuals need to live in the realities of our time. When I think about all that is going on in our world I am drawn to speak, to friends, sometimes to people with whom I disagree, to the anonymous on FaceBook. Perhaps Lent calls us to hold our tongue in check and to engage our souls in reflection on the words that God would have us hear.

IV.

I cannot leave these readings and this day behind without speaking on temptation. There is a wonderful scene in the film when Andrei happens upon a large group of pagans celebrating a holiday. This is, I think, his moment with temptation, as he, a monk, encounters a woman, and later men, who wanted him to experience the sexual joy of their holiday. He resists – with silence. But he watches. It is almost as if he wants to know the tempter, his enemy. 

Jesus engages Satan, giving back as he is tempted – using God’s word to thwart what Satan offers him. Just as in our lives, there are many moments of temptation in Rublev’s life. Given a great gift, the biggest temptation is to leave it behind, not to use it, not to see God’s glory in it. Perhaps this is the encounter we might make in our own great Lenten silence and reflection – seeing what we have been given and the proper way to use it and to offer it. 

At the end of the film, which is in black and white, the production turns to color, and trains its cameras on the details of Andrei Rublev’s icons. The most notable are his Holy Trinity with the three angels dining at Abraham’s table, and his Pantocrator in which he sees Jesus the Creator of All as a simple man staring out at the one in devotion at the icon. The camera zooms into the riot of color present in the simplicity of the icon writer’s work. Lent, this film, these readings, all have called me to see the simplicity of God’s glory, and the simple things that he has called me to do – reflection, silence, meditation, and the giving of alms – to become a gracious monk, a nun at prayer in the wilderness of my soul.

SDG