Sermon for the Fifth Sunday after the Epiphany, 6 February 2022

 

“Majesty”

Isaiah 6:1-8, [9-13]

Psalm 138

I Corinthians 15:1=11

St. Luke 5:1-11

 

INI

 

Beauty

This morning I am going to devote myself to the first reading for today – the commissioning of the prophet Isaiah, as recorded by the first of the Isaiah’s. To me it is a scene of incredible beauty – the vision of the God of Hosts in the Temple/Palace, with Seraphim (literally “burning ones”) flying about, attending to the Sovereign and hymning him with holy words. Isaiah’s description of these beings, these fiery ones, with wings covering their faces, for it was not possible to look upon God, and another pair covering their body, and the final pair available for flight make us realize that the importance of their attendance with their voice – their word. This ought to be a familiar theme – one that we know from the Prologue to John, “And the word became flesh.”

 

Luther took this passage and formed the Sanctus in his Deutsche Messe – his German Mass, where the hymn on the seraphim, the burning ones, becomes the Sanctus sung at the mass. It’s all encapsulated in a hymn he wrote – “Isaiah Mighty Seer in Days of Old.” At the Evangelical Lutheran Church of Saint Luke in Chicago, where I did my intern year, we had a Eucharist for staff and children of the school on Wednesdays, and often we would sing this hymn as the Sanctus. Imagine 300 plus treble voices singing:

 

            Holy, is God the Lord of Sabaoth,

            Holy, is God the Lord of Sabaoth,

            Holy, is God the Lord of Sabaoth,

            Behold his glory filleth all the Earth.

 

Often it left me with my knees quaking, as I made a profound bow at the words. The children’s voices, and the holiness and majesty of God made for a perfect combination.

 

Isaiah, perhaps present at the enthronement ceremony of Jotham, the king who followed the King Uzziah, saw in the present reality the heavenly reality that would become a part of his message. The beauty and power of God convince him of several things, some of which lead to a new understanding of himself, and others which move him to a message he is to proclaim. That is, I hope, what motivates us here, as we sing, as we pray, as we do liturgy, so that we might become the word – the message. 

 

Reality

There is, however, a reality that is quite beyond and behind Isaiah’s experience. The first reality is that the excellence of Uzziah’s reign would be superseded by the growing threat of the Assyrian Empire, and by Israel’s forsaking of its relationship with YHWH, its God and its patron. The situation that Isaiah’s sees amongst the people he first divines in his own soul and body. His reaction to the beauty of the scene in the Temple/Palace is a contrast to the scene: “Woe is me! I am lost, for I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips.” He and the people are lost, and the reality is that God has judged them and found them wanting. This, the prophet sees in himself. 

 

What follows is an equally compelling scene, where the seraph flies to the altar with a pair of tongs, takes from the altar a burning coal, and with it touches the prophet’s mouth. Something is burned away in the process, for the seraph announces and absolution: “Now that this has touched your lips, your guilt has departed and your sin is blotted out." It must have been an excruciating pardon, and it left its mark. I think it left its mark in the same way that the crucifixion of Jesus leaves its mark. A scene of horror becomes the reality of redemption and forgiveness. 

 

The Russian poet, Alexander Pushkin, was also moved by this scene, and wrote a poem about it, called “The Prophet”. I’d like to read it to you, because he graphically takes the scene of forgiveness, and moves it to a place beyond.

 

My spirit was athirst for grace.
I wandered in a darkling land

And at a crossing of the ways

Beheld a six-wing'd Seraph stand.

With fingers light as dream at night

He brushed my eyes and they grew bright
Opening unto prophecies
Wild as a startled eagle's eyes.

He touched my ears, and noise and sound

Poured into me from all around:

I heard the shudders of the sky,

The sweep of angel hosts on high,

The creep of beasts below in the seas,

The seep of sap in valley trees.

And leaning to my lips he wrung

Thereout my sinful slithered tongue
Of guile and idle caviling;

And with his bloody fingertips

He set between my wasting lips

A Serpent's wise and forkèd sting.

And with his sword he cleft my chest
And ripped my quaking heart out whole,

And in my sundered breast he cast
A blazing shard of living coal.

There in the desert I lay dead

Until the voice from heaven said:

"Arise O Prophet! Work My will,

Thou that hast now perceived and heard.

On land and sea thy charge fulfill

And burn Man's heart with this My Word."

 

Not just a tongue, but the heart as well – touched with living fire. The whole of the body is cut asunder in order that something new might be placed within. In the Ancient Near East when a covenant was made, the sacrificial animals were cut into two halves, and the agents of the covenant walked through their midst – both participating in their sacrifice and blood. So, Pushkin sees us cut asunder and something new put in its place. “And burn Man’s heart with this My Word.” 

 

Now the prophet is ready for the call, “Whom shall I send , and who will go for us?” And the prophet responds ecstatically, “Here I am, send me!” The message that is given is even more difficult, however. It is one that battles the mind. Following the forgiveness and call given to Isaiah, one expects the same for the people, but God does not see it that way. This is final justice – a final reckoning. The words of this call are hard for us to hear, for we are the people: 

 

`Keep listening, but do not comprehend;

keep looking, but do not understand.' 

Make the mind of this people dull,
and stop their ears,
and shut their eyes,

so that they may not look with their eyes,
and listen with their ears, 

and comprehend with their minds,
and turn and be healed."

 

So, the judgment has been rendered and nothing is to remain. It is like Noah and the Flood – all is to be destroyed. This was Isaiah’s present reality, for soon Israel would be laid waste by Assyria, and much later Judah by Babylon. These were the agents of the Lord’s judgment.

 

Majesty

In the final verses of the reading we meet a theme that Isaiah will expand on in the next chapters and verses of his oracles. It is the notion of the remnant. He writes: “Even if a tenth part remain in it (the destroyed cities and land) it will be burned again, like a terebinth, or an oak, whose stump remains standing when it is felled.” And now here it comes, a final dose of majesty, for those living in desperation and sorrow. “The holy seed is its stump.”

 

In my own personal ecclesiastical history and journey this is a poignant symbol. When all is lost, there is still the sprout that is left – a new tree – a new terebinth. We know this in the reality of our own forests, and it has been taught to us by the peoples who lived there before we took the land from them. The fire renews the woods. The fire makes possible the new growth. Smoky was wrong! What is it that we must burn away or prune? What is it that obstructs our return to God? What is it that convinces us that we are not worthy? 

 

I wish we had a ceremony in which we could all have our lips touched with God’s grace and finger – in which we realized the majesty of our own message of grace, seen in Jesus’ life, and seen in our own. It’s time for a vision – its time for a new sight. It’s time for all of us to shout, “Here I am – send me!” Our redemption is our majesty.

 

 

SDG

Sermon for the Seventh Sunday after Pentecost, 11 July 2021

  

 

“On Becoming a Prophet”

 

Amos 7:7-15

Psalm 85:8-13

Ephesians 1:3-14

St. Mark 6:14-29

 

INI

 

It is good that we are welcoming ourselves back into our places of worship, our sacred places, our connection with not only God, but neighbors as well. I do hope, however, that over the last weeks, months – over a year really, that we have discovered the sacredness that lives within us and that is present in our homes and families as well – for God has certainly been there with us. That is an important realization for us to retain, for it is in that arena – homes, neighborhood, and community that we are sent as apostles and announcers of God news – news that God is still present in our society, and what that awareness might mean for us as church and followers of Jesus. The readings for this morning will contribute a great deal to us if we choose to both follow and proclaim Jesus. The words of the prophets are needed in our society.

 

Amos – the reluctant prophet

There is a pattern in the call of prophets that moves them to move away from the task to which God calls them. Like Jeremiah, many of them thought themselves too young, too inexperienced, not give the gift of necessary words. This they explain at the beginning of their call, or like Jonah, they simply run away from it. Amos, however, waits until after he has accomplished his task, in which he tells the story of the plumb line and truing to God’s will. Having made his announcement, he is urged by both king and priest to simply go away, for his words were too hard for the people of Israel. It is at this point that Amos says something that is really quite startling.

 

I am no prophet, nor a prophet’s son; but I am a herdsman, and a dresser of sycamore trees, and the Lord took me from following the flock, and the Lord said to me, “God, prophesy to my people Israel.”

 

In his denial, are hidden symbols of his call by God, and his devotion to God. He is a herdsman – the shepherd who tends the flock, and here God has given him a different flock, the Israel north of Judah – the land that God still desires, and the people that God yet yearns for. Amos also describes himself as a “dresser of sycamore trees,” and that too is symbol often used in the scriptures for the judgment and training of the people of God. Pruned and trimmed, the vine is prepared to produce good fruit. Thus, in his denial, Amos hints at what God has called him to do.

 

I’m going to call us, in a few minutes, to be a prophetic church with a difficult message. However, before we go there let’s begin by understanding and realizing our reticence to be those kind of people – prophetic people. Hidden and dwelling in our probable protest of what we really are: mothers, businesspeople, teachers, retired people, administrators, are the clues as to how we might be servants of both God and neighbor (read: community). Let us understand that we can mother like God, conduct the business for the welfare of the community like God, teach like God, rest like God, administer creation like God. We may dismiss the call, but in our dismissal, we acknowledge our gifts.

 

John, the outspoken prophet

It is odd that Mark, known for his brevity, takes the amount of time that he does to interrupt Jesus’ journey to Jerusalem to tell the story of John and his contretemps with Herod, the tetrarch. We already know John’s brusque nature. “You brood a vipers,” he screams at the Scribes and the Pharisees. John’s announcement is a call for repentance and a return to God – a need to be washed clean. These words, however, are not the words that get him into trouble. If anything, his preaching attracts the crowds, and gains the attention of religious and secular leaders. What does get him into trouble is his condemnation of a corrupt and morally lax ruler. Like Amos, he is called to denounce what he sees as a bad example for the people of Israel.

 

Such kinds of words have their consequences, and that may be the reason that we, often as a church, shy away from such condemnations. They are dangerous, provocative, and uncomfortable, and yet we are called to be truth-tellers. Walter Brueggemann, Old Testament scholar and professor at Columbia University has something to say about that in his book, Reality, Grief, Hope: Three Urgent Prophetic Tasks. He draws this conclusion from his study of the prophets, their message and their unrelenting task, and then assigns it to us as well. He writes:

 

“The prophetic tasks of the church are to tell the truth in a society that lives in illusion, grieve in a society that practices denial, and express hope in a society that lives in despair.”

 

We are familiar, I’m afraid of the three sins, if you will, or our time: living in illusion, practicing denial, and finally, what Jesus preaches against, despairing. Like Candide, we prefer to think that we live in the best of all possible world, when the reality is pressing in on us that this is not quite true. Dr. Brueggemann is impressing upon us the difficult task that our time is asking of the church, of we who are regathering in this place, of you as you live your life. Three gifts are required: truth, acceptance, and hope.

 

Jesus, the prophet of the kingdom

In the Gospel of Luke, the remaining disciples of John are sent to Jesus to ask him a question. “Are you the One who was to come, or shall we look for another?” Jesus’ answer to them is straight out of the prophets, and this is the other side of the prophetic message. It is not all doom and gloom. Jesus tells the disciples of John to tell him what they have seen and heard – and this is straight out of Isaiah: 

 

“The blind regain their sight, the lame walk, lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, the poor have good news proclaimed to them.”

 

If we are to be prophets, then we need to know the good news intended not only for ourselves, but the words that need to be given to others. In the second reading, St. Paul says this to the Ephesians:

 

 “In Christ we have also obtained an inheritance, having been destined according to the purpose of him who accomplishes all things according to his counsel and will, so that we, who were the first to set our hope on Christ, might live for the praise of his glory.”

 

This inheritance belongs to all people – it is God’s gift to every woman and man of whatever color, disposition, or persuasion. That is the good news. And the elements of our society who wish to restrict that grace, or to reserve it for only a few, or only of their kind must be reminded of the plumb line which tells the truth. It however starts with us. Let us recant our illusions, denials, and our despair, and let us live truth and hope.

 

 

 

SDG 

Sermon for the Fifth Sunday after the Epiphany, 7 February 2021

Preaching at Saint Mark's Church, Berkeley

The Fifth Sunday after Epiphany, 7 February 2021

“Called to…”

 

Isaiah 40:21-31

Psalm 147:1-12, 21c

I Corinthians 9:16-23

St. Mark 1:29-39

 

INI

 

Over the last few Sundays, we have been reviewing Jesus’ call to the disciples, both men and women who left everything and followed him. It is a remarkable thought to hear and invitation and to totally change one’s life and to follow someone that you know little about. If there is anything that this period in the Church’s Year is about it is Jesus’ teaching and Jesus’ call to us. In the middle of the year, in June, I will celebrate the fiftieth anniversary of my ordination, and I have noticed how, on FaceBook, my classmates are all remembering and pondering on their careers, their ministry, and their decisions to pursue such a call. It is, I think, a time for us as a people to think about how we have been called, and to what. For we are all in ministry, and in a priestly service of prayer and servanthood to both God and neighbor. Today’s readings offer some thoughts on what we might be called to be in our journey with one another and with Christ.

 

We are called to address the weak and faint-hearted.

 

We are living in a time when the circumstances that surround us have awakened old fears and perceptions that have shaken our view of life. People are wondering why this all is happening to them, and where God is in the midst of the crises of our time. Second Isaiah addresses the Israel that has been in exile, that has been taken from the land of its mothers and fathers. He addresses their fear and sadness. In the first reading he repeats the complaint that they have over against their God: “Why do you say, O Jacob, and speak, O Israel, ‘My way is hidden from the Lord, and my right is disregarded by my God’”? This Isaiah then goes on to seek and out and point out the evidence of God’s presence, and to rejoice in the salvation that God continues to offer.

 

He begins his evidence with his own question, “Have you not known, have you not heard?” Then he looks to our very surroundings themselves. He looks to the foundations of the earth, its peoples, the heavens, and death itself. Isaiah wants us to realize the power and might of God even in the midst of trouble and sorrow. How can we be God’s agents in the midst of these times?

 

Here is the clue: “(God) gives power to the faint and strengthens the powerless.” Here is the geography of our ministry – to those who are faint of heart, who feel no power or suasion in their lives. Do you know any such individuals? Do you pray for them or do you feed them with either faith or food? I am thinking of the lonely in lockdown, those who feel they’ve been forgotten by national leaders, those who are ill, or those who stand by while loved one’s die. These are the faint-hearted and powerless. And it is in our power to give them strength and courage by our witness of faith and presence.

 

We are called to see those who await God’s favor.

 

The psalm for today picks up on this same theme and promise, “The Lord lifts up the lowly.” I’m wondering how many people in this last year have learned how to pray again? I’m wondering how many have lifted up the lives of family, friends, and neighbors, and have asked God to aid and comfort them? I’m wondering how many have rediscovered the psalms, or meditation, or who have hungered for the Eucharist? If there is anything that I have learned to do in this time it is to wait. The psalmist blesses us: “But the Lord has pleasure in those who fear (God), in those who await (God’s) gracious favor.

 

Again, we might have a role, not only four ourselves but also for those who rely on us, or who look to us for strength, advice, or aid. The psalm has several verbs that might inspire us in our deeds: rebuilds, gathers, heals, binds up, lifts up, provides, has pleasure. All of those actions can be of aid to those who await God’s favor and can be of aid to ourselves as we wait on God. I am reminded of Göthe’s observation, “Zeit ist Gnade.” “Time is grace.” Waiting on God and waiting on others in need is not a punishment or a trial. It is an opportunity to honor God and serve our neighbor. Jesus redeems us for this.

 

We are called to make our lives a gateway for those who seek God.

 

The other day Arthur, my husband, made an aside to a relative, “You have the patience of Job!” “What’s Job?” was the reply. We need to realize that the Story with which we have been brought to faith is not known by many anymore. The characters and events of the Bible have little meaning or reference for man people today. Perhaps we can take some advice from Paul in the second lesson for today, “An obligation is laid on me, and woe to me if I do not proclaim the gospel!” Recognizing his commission from God, Paul then goes on to assess his own life and manner of living in the light of that obligation. 

 

We are in the midst of an argument about eating meat offered to idols – it was a big controversy in the Church at Corinth. Meat from temple sacrifices was offered at local markets for a low price. The conundrum was, if I as an economical consumer bought such low-priced meat and then prepared a meal using it, would all who ate of that meal participated in idol worship. Paul’s answer is interesting. He espouses the freedom we have in Christ (so it might be possible to eat such a meal and not participate) but understands the difficulty for someone new to the faith (so he would avoid such a meal). Paul sums it up with “I have become all things to all people, that I might by all means save some.”

 

The individualism and permissiveness of our culture finds this a difficult take on the situation. What Paul wants us to realize that we have to think through our freedoms always with those who are seeking God in our mind. What examples do we give? What model of life and living do we show? As we approach Lent, this might be a point of reflection for us. How does my life display the Good News of Jesus Christ? 

 

We are called not to fear the demons.

 

What are the demons in your life – the viewpoints and understandings that make life difficult for you? In ancient times demons were both good (for the Greeks) and bad (for the Mesopotamians). In our time, demons have a decidedly negative aspect, and we assign to them difficult our troubling aspects of life. Unlike the Mesopotamians, these demons do not come from outside us, but rather a resident within us – our own self-understanding and recrimination. 

 

Jesus, in the Gospel, confronts these troubles and dismisses them. Often in the Gospels, when we hear of being saved, it is healing that is really being talked about. The demons of life can be healed – this is the message that Jesus gives. That Jesus, who is deeply involved with human life (the incarnation, you see) sees the need to address both physical and spiritual health should be our concern as well. We are aware of the physical aspect of that demand in these days, but perhaps the spiritual part has evaded us. How many of our own personal demons could be exorcised by prayer, or conversation with a spiritual advisor? Our times seem to be calling us to despair, but our faith is calling us to not fear our demons. Christ saves us, heals us, so that we might be a similar agent to others.

 

Finally, the fact that you are hearing this in your homes, or reading it from a link, means that we do not need, for the time being, to be present in a holy place. We are in a holy place – the holy place of our lives – the lives given to us by God. The obligation to share the Good News can be met in our lives, in our work, in our life amidst others. May God grant us the power and the strength.

 

SDG

Christmas Day at Saint Mark's Church, Berkeley, 25 December 2020

 

“Focus”

 

Isaiah 52:7-10

Psalm 98

Hebrews 1:1-4, (5-12)

St. John 1:1-14

 

INI

 

A good friend of mine, a former member at The Lutheran Church of St. Ambrose in Pennsville, New Jersey, and now a pastor at a church in suburban Philadelphia, sent me a text on FaceBook, revealing that this Christmas Eve she was beside herself, not knowing what to do – having a day off but not really. I wrote back, “Isn’t it strange when you miss anxiety.” I could identify – a time of the year when there was pressure and multiple demands was suddenly empty. It is, I think a blessing, the quietness of this Pandemic Advent and Christmas. It has allowed somethings for us that we might not have seen. 

 

I am reminded of an experience that I had once in Philadelphia. (I may have already told you this story, and if so, forgive me.) I wandered the galleries, by myself – the good way to visit any museum. As I meandered, pausing by things that really caught my eye, I noticed a large door that opened into a darkened room. When I entered, I saw the single object that was displayed there. It was a large standing Buddha with a beautifully woven piece of purple fabric at his back. It was stunning, and it demanded my silence. Slowly I realized what the import of this object was for me. It was a manifestation of what Christmas should be like – a single object of focus that stands out in the darkness, in silence. 

 

I have spent the several years since then trying to understand and enable that realization on my part, and what it either really meant or how it could really be realized. There are moments in the liturgy when we are urged to be silent, pensive, almost caught up in ourselves. I remember approaching the altar on Good Friday several years ago with Lizette Larson-Miller. When we reached the predella, we dropped to our knees, and then prostrated ourselves before the stripped altar. There was a silence then, within me, that I wished could have gone on forever. It was being totally alone but being totally alone with God. It was the dark room with the Buddha.

 

Perhaps we have been given a gift in these last weeks and months. It may have been a gift that we haven’t noticed in our despair, and yet it must be a gift to be acknowledge as we realize the One who is standing next to us – the Paraclete, the Holy Spirit, the one who gives voice to our muddled prayers. The authentic reality of the Word-made-flesh is sometimes lost the preparations and celebration of the feast, and we need an opportunity to bow down and to listen to the Word.

 

Some years ago, my sisters and I along with my daughter Anna, drove back to Colorado for a family reunion in Estes Park. On the way we had a surprise meeting with my father in his birthplace, Alamosa, Colorado. We drove around the town, and showed us the places he had lived, worshiped, and was schooled. Finally, at the airport, he got out of his car, and walked up to fence to observe the grandeur of the Sangre de Christo mountains that were splayed out in front of him. My sister mad motions to go and join him, and I said, “No.” “Let him be with himself and his memories.”

 

Perhaps that is what we need to do at times when we celebrate the church’s year. Perhaps we, on occasion, need to be alone (but with the Paraclete). The author of the Book of the Hebrews has an amazing insight. “Long ago God spoke to our ancestors in many and various ways, but in these last days (God) has spoken to us by a Son.” God, through this Son, has spoken to you, to me. Sometimes in my rejection of the altar calls and the “personal Savior” language of Evangelical Christianity, I really do rely on the reality of the Eucharistic Assembly, I forget that sometimes I really need to accompany Jesus to the desert – to the wilderness. In John’s prologue, which is the Gospel reading for this day, I think I see John’s vision of the Anointed Word present in the nothingness before Creation. Alone.

 

However, “in many and various ways” God has spoken to us individually, in our histories, in our sadness, in our joys, God has spoken to us. Emanuel – God with us! My invitation to you in the Christmas of 2020 is that you give up the despair of this time, the loneliness born of not being able to be with friends and family, the isolation of only being able to attend to your own altar, give all of this up and be with God. Perhaps we need to be like the prophet, who expecting God to manifest Godself to him in wind, fire, and noise, realizes God’s presence in (as the New American Bible puts it) “a light silent sound.” Or Robert Alter’s translation, “a minute stillness.”

 

Perhaps God calls us to a stillness, a darkness, a remote place so that we can both see and hear God’s light, and God’s word. “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it. We are called from time to time to a world of prayer, our prayer, our words, our concerns, our thanksgivings, and that ought to be the ultimate Christmas response. Alan Jones, former Dean at Grace Cathedral wrote this is his book, Common Prayer on Common Ground: A Vision of Anglican Orthodoxy: “Anglican orthodoxy, therefore, begins and ends in prayer, in silence before the mystery. It is not anti-intellectual but insists on the joining of intellect with emotion, of praying, as the Eastern tradition has it, with the mind in the heart.”[1] The mind in the heart – there it is, a clue for us in our living. Both of these elements we always have with us, a wilderness for our regeneration, an altar for our communication with God.

 

I hope you enjoy all the secondary pleasures of this season, the relationships, the memories, the food! But I also hope that you will retreat (as our times have forced us to do) and to listen and hope not only for God, but in God. For God is with us – Emmanuel.

 

SDG

---

[1]        Jones, A. (2006). Common Prayer on Common Ground: A Vision of Anglican Orthodoxy, Church Publishing Inc., New York, Kindle Edition, page 77.

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