PROPER 8 / 7 PENTECOST — 29 June 2008
Trinity, Iowa City — 8:45 am
Romans 6:12-23 Psalm 13 Matthew 10:40-42
Whoever gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones in the name of a disciple — truly I tell you, none of these will lose their reward.
It hasn’t been a good couple of weeks, at least for a lot of us. For some of us directly, and for the rest of us at least for people we know. As I said a couple of weeks ago, we are grateful to the many people, and to God’s grace empowering them, who have pitched in to help the many who have suffered and are suffering, a lot or a little, because of the flood. This may not be a perfect community in which to live, but it’s a good community, and we thank God for that. (And we need to bear in mind that it isn’t just churchy people who have helped share the burdens — a lot of the folks just care about each other, and that’s a sign of God’s grace whether folks recognize it or not.)
Meanwhile, elsewhere in the world, all kinds of distressing and annoying things are going on. As Episcopalians, we tend naturally to be caught up by the Adventures in Anglicanland. I’m not quite sure what to say to you about that. On the one hand, I am a great believer in transparency in the life of the Church, and therefore I don’t want to sound like I’m telling you that the stuff that’s going on is not important and you really don’t need to pay attention and fret about it, just let the clergy worry about it! If you are interested or concerned, I’m willing to discuss these things with you and point you to a number of sources of news and information. [*] On the other hand, if your attitude is that following Jesus is quite enough of a job without being distracted by Anglican politics, I assure you that you should not feel guilty about that! In the end, Jesus is Lord and we really don’t need to fret. And in any case, most of the rest of the world — not only non-Anglicans but a lot of Anglicans too — really aren’t paying a lot of attention to our ecclesiastical internecine disputes, not compared with the multitude of real, critical human problems that face us in this world.
You may have noticed that in the case of many of these critical human problems that face us in this world, religion is not part of the solution!
In the Gospel reading today (incidentally, you may have noticed along the way that I generally do not regard the Gospel and Religion — even the Christian Religion — as coterminous. If you display them in a Venn diagram, they do overlap, but I think not as much as we often assume. But I digress.) In the Gospel reading today, from the tenth chapter of St. Matthew, we have been hearing Jesus’ instructions to his disciples about their mission of proclaiming the good news and healing the afflicted. Today we hear the conclusion of these instructions.
“Whoever welcomes you welcomes me.” Note that Jesus does not tell them, “In order for their welcome of you to count as welcoming me, they have to sign this application for membership in the Jesus Club.” He does not say, “Be sure you show your Jesus ID card first before you ask them to welcome you.” He says, “If they welcome you, then they are welcoming me — whether they know it or not. And furthermore, if they are welcoming me — whether they know it or not — they are welcoming God who sent me — whether they know it or not. ‘Whether they know it or not’ is for the Father and me to deal with — it really isn’t up to you. Your message — whether you proclaim it aloud or whether you proclaim it in your actions of healing and service — is simply 'The kingdom of heaven has come near.'"
“Whoever welcomes a prophet in the name of a prophet will receive a prophet’s reward.” A Semitic locution that means “If they welcome you as a prophet because they perceive that you are a spokesman for God’s kingdom” — without passing any further doctrinal exams — then they will share in the life of God’s kingdom. And “whoever welcomes a righteous person in the name of a righteous person” — because they perceive in you the love and justice of God, even if they don’t yet realize that it is God who is the source of love and justice — they will share in God’s grace drawing them into God’s holiness.
“And whoever gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones in the name of a disciple” — if you minister even in very simple ways, a moment of caring, a little help from a friend so they can get by, a random act of kindness, just because you follow me, then you will not fall short of life in the kingdom. However (the Gospel doesn’t say this, but I think Jesus means it:) “Don’t use me as a club to beat people over the head. Minister to the needs of people — not just thirst, but any need; not just children but all God’s ‘little ones’ who need our care. They don’t have to meet any preconditions. They don’t have to join the club. They don’t have to sit still for a sermon first.”
You know, there are some folks performing “Christian service” who seem to convey the attitude, “Personally, I think you are undeserving scum, but for the love of God and out of Christian duty I will help you.” Jesus says, “Don’t care for your sisters and brothers because you love me; care for them because you love them! That’s how you share in the life of God’s kingdom, and it is the life of the kingdom that is your reward.”
“As you go, proclaim the good news,” Jesus said a couple of weeks ago, “‘The kingdom of heaven has come near.’ Cure the sick, raise the dead, cleanse the lepers, cast out demons. You received without payment, give without payment.”
And now, O Lord, have mercy upon us. Thanks be to God.
[*] In the sidebar to the right there is a link my other blog, The Liturgical Curmudgeon. In the right sidebar of that blog there are links to several good sites for news and information.
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Sermon & Bishop's Pastoral -- 15 June 2008
Proper 6 / 5 Pentecost — 15 June 2008
Trinity, Iowa City — 7:45, 8:45, and 11:00
Genesis 18:1-15;[21:1-7] Ps 116:1,10-17 [Romans 5:1-8] Matt 9:35-10:9[9-23]
“As you go, proclaim the good news, ‘The kingdom of heaven has come near.’ Cure the sick, raise the dead, cleanse the lepers, cast out demons. You received without payment; give without payment.”
A couple of weeks ago we decided for the summer to read just two of the three appointed Scripture lessons. I’m not quite sure why (though that’s what we always do at 8:45). Mel thought it was a good idea. Easy for him to say. He’s in Greece. Anyway, what this meant is that two weeks ago we heard Romans and did not hear the reading from Genesis, parts of chapters 6, 7 and 8. Yes, that’s right. The story of Noah.
Who knew?
But I’m not going to make Noah jokes, because this really isn’t funny. And this week it’s going to get even unfunnier.
I’m not going to go on too long this morning, partly because the Bishop has sent a pastoral letter that he requests be read today in all churches in the Diocese of Iowa, and I think what he has to say is more important and better said than anything I would say. We also may run through some extra announcements that we have gathered.
The gospel today is about the proclaiming of the good news of the kingdom of God. Jesus is going about Galilee and attracting great crowds of people — evidently more than even he can handle himself. He commissions the Twelve with “authority over unclean spirits, to cast them out, and to cure every disease and every sickness.” He tells them, “As you go, proclaim the good news, ‘The kingdom of heaven has come near.’ Cure the sick, raise the dead, cleanse the lepers, cast out demons. You received without payment; give without payment.”
What is it we are to be about? What does it mean to follow Jesus? What are we saying when we proclaim Jesus as Lord? The reading today shows us at least some of what Jesus means when he calls us to discipleship. And it’s not what an awful lot of people seem to mean by “religion.” Proclaiming the kingdom of heaven isn’t just about going to the “good place” when we die instead of the “bad place” — or maybe not even primarily about that. (The notion of “heaven” as someplace up there, off somewhere, where God lives instead of here, is a notion we thought up a few hundred years ago — I’m not really quite sure just when — but it doesn’t have very much to do with what Jesus means by God’s kingdom.) Proclaiming, enacting, living in God’s Reign means a ministry of healing, of reconciliation, of restoration. It’s about fullness of life, about beauty and truth, about love. Being a follower of Jesus is not about me. It is not a business. We aren’t here to get anything. We are called to give freely, because we were given freely.
In times like these the basic realities of our life and of God’s call to us in this world become very vivid. By God’s grace this is a community in which countless numbers of people, people of faith and people whose faith (as we say) is known to God alone, have been and will be pitching in to help one another as we recover from this devastating flood. If you have an opportunity to help someone (or some institution or business) that needs help, I encourage you to take it; if you need help, please let us know. I’ll say a bit more about this in a few minutes. But know that this is indeed a dimension of our vocation as followers and disciples of Jesus — a dimension (at least generally if not specifically) of that for which we prayed in today’s Collect: that we be kept in God’s steadfast faith and love, that through God’s grace we may proclaim God’s truth with boldness and minister God’s justice with compassion.
*****
Sunday, 15 June 2008
Dearly beloved in Christ,
We gather today in difficult circumstances. We are mindful of the young men lost last week to the tornado in Little Sioux City and the heroics of their friends that saved lives. We may have spent hours on the sandbag lines, saving our city downtown, or seeing our efforts less successful. We have homes suddenly caught in the middle of rivers turned lakes. Our farmers are faced with an uncertain crop and livelihood from their mud-filled, lake like fields. Our houses have taken on a distinctive odor as we continue to bail out our basements or worse.
One month ago we were grateful for the gift of water (as every baptismal liturgy helps us recall). We were celebrating Waters of Hope, and now our new web-site for blogging our stories is simply “Iowa Waters”. What needs to be said or done at this time?
First of all, we continue to wrap each other and our communities in prayer. We share this as every moment together with God. There was a photo in the Des Moines Register of a man sitting on his favorite bench yet knee deep in water and clearly out in a large patch of flood water. He was catching his breath and perhaps a moment of reflection. If praying, he could not have offered it in a more appropriate place. Prayer lifts our eyes above ourselves and it takes place in the midst of the storm, not only in quiet moments.
Secondly, we need to know that we are sharing ourselves with each other. On the sandbag line in Cedar Falls, a sixty year old Episcopal priest was sandwiched between two High School football players, who insisted on tossing her the sandbags until she let on that her strong looks may deceive and asked if he would hand them to her. We share ourselves through communicating together, which is why we have started a special blog called Iowa Waters to listen to one another. (Link through our Diocesan website, or directly to http://www.iowawaters.blogspot.com/)
Thirdly, we commit to a long term action of service. I was reminded that there are several stages – this watching and holding back phase; the immediate caring of the evacuees and those most affected; then the clean up crews and the planners and the rebuilding; eventually we have also decided as a Church to be present for the mental and spiritual health needs as they arise once bravery and adrenaline drop with the water levels.
Today [Friday, June 13] leaders of almost all the faith denominations held a conference call to map out how we can carry out as coordinated an effort as possible. We have offered the new web-site (Iowa Waters) which Pat Genereux put together for our communication to the ecumenical community. It is being expanded as a vehicle for news from the ecumenical community. We are talking about obtaining some volunteer coordinators in order to be ready for what we expect to be a rush of men and women eager to clean up and rebuild.
Above all we know that the Church is not the Red Cross or FEMA or the insurance business, and we need to be able to guide people for the assistance which can come from those official sources. We will wait our turn to meet longer term needs. And in the meantime pay attention as best we can to those with special needs, those without sure employment or resources, even those recently arrived in our state.
We gather then today to find God as our tower of strength, not our rescuer from hardship. As Eucharistic Prayer C says at its conclusion “Deliver us from the presumption of coming to this Table for solace only and not for strength, for pardon only and not for renewal.” These are hard words when we really need Christ’s saving embrace; when we need the Christ who calms the storm to show up on the waves. Instead He shows up on the sandbag line, with the offertory box, in our loving embraces and our resolute spirits, in our wiping away of tears, and in our stubborn willingness of faith always to give thanks for the gift of water.
Yours in the peace of Christ that passes understanding,
+Alan Scarfe, Bishop of Iowa
Trinity, Iowa City — 7:45, 8:45, and 11:00
Genesis 18:1-15;[21:1-7] Ps 116:1,10-17 [Romans 5:1-8] Matt 9:35-10:9[9-23]
“As you go, proclaim the good news, ‘The kingdom of heaven has come near.’ Cure the sick, raise the dead, cleanse the lepers, cast out demons. You received without payment; give without payment.”
A couple of weeks ago we decided for the summer to read just two of the three appointed Scripture lessons. I’m not quite sure why (though that’s what we always do at 8:45). Mel thought it was a good idea. Easy for him to say. He’s in Greece. Anyway, what this meant is that two weeks ago we heard Romans and did not hear the reading from Genesis, parts of chapters 6, 7 and 8. Yes, that’s right. The story of Noah.
Who knew?
But I’m not going to make Noah jokes, because this really isn’t funny. And this week it’s going to get even unfunnier.
I’m not going to go on too long this morning, partly because the Bishop has sent a pastoral letter that he requests be read today in all churches in the Diocese of Iowa, and I think what he has to say is more important and better said than anything I would say. We also may run through some extra announcements that we have gathered.
The gospel today is about the proclaiming of the good news of the kingdom of God. Jesus is going about Galilee and attracting great crowds of people — evidently more than even he can handle himself. He commissions the Twelve with “authority over unclean spirits, to cast them out, and to cure every disease and every sickness.” He tells them, “As you go, proclaim the good news, ‘The kingdom of heaven has come near.’ Cure the sick, raise the dead, cleanse the lepers, cast out demons. You received without payment; give without payment.”
What is it we are to be about? What does it mean to follow Jesus? What are we saying when we proclaim Jesus as Lord? The reading today shows us at least some of what Jesus means when he calls us to discipleship. And it’s not what an awful lot of people seem to mean by “religion.” Proclaiming the kingdom of heaven isn’t just about going to the “good place” when we die instead of the “bad place” — or maybe not even primarily about that. (The notion of “heaven” as someplace up there, off somewhere, where God lives instead of here, is a notion we thought up a few hundred years ago — I’m not really quite sure just when — but it doesn’t have very much to do with what Jesus means by God’s kingdom.) Proclaiming, enacting, living in God’s Reign means a ministry of healing, of reconciliation, of restoration. It’s about fullness of life, about beauty and truth, about love. Being a follower of Jesus is not about me. It is not a business. We aren’t here to get anything. We are called to give freely, because we were given freely.
In times like these the basic realities of our life and of God’s call to us in this world become very vivid. By God’s grace this is a community in which countless numbers of people, people of faith and people whose faith (as we say) is known to God alone, have been and will be pitching in to help one another as we recover from this devastating flood. If you have an opportunity to help someone (or some institution or business) that needs help, I encourage you to take it; if you need help, please let us know. I’ll say a bit more about this in a few minutes. But know that this is indeed a dimension of our vocation as followers and disciples of Jesus — a dimension (at least generally if not specifically) of that for which we prayed in today’s Collect: that we be kept in God’s steadfast faith and love, that through God’s grace we may proclaim God’s truth with boldness and minister God’s justice with compassion.
*****
Sunday, 15 June 2008
Dearly beloved in Christ,
We gather today in difficult circumstances. We are mindful of the young men lost last week to the tornado in Little Sioux City and the heroics of their friends that saved lives. We may have spent hours on the sandbag lines, saving our city downtown, or seeing our efforts less successful. We have homes suddenly caught in the middle of rivers turned lakes. Our farmers are faced with an uncertain crop and livelihood from their mud-filled, lake like fields. Our houses have taken on a distinctive odor as we continue to bail out our basements or worse.
One month ago we were grateful for the gift of water (as every baptismal liturgy helps us recall). We were celebrating Waters of Hope, and now our new web-site for blogging our stories is simply “Iowa Waters”. What needs to be said or done at this time?
First of all, we continue to wrap each other and our communities in prayer. We share this as every moment together with God. There was a photo in the Des Moines Register of a man sitting on his favorite bench yet knee deep in water and clearly out in a large patch of flood water. He was catching his breath and perhaps a moment of reflection. If praying, he could not have offered it in a more appropriate place. Prayer lifts our eyes above ourselves and it takes place in the midst of the storm, not only in quiet moments.
Secondly, we need to know that we are sharing ourselves with each other. On the sandbag line in Cedar Falls, a sixty year old Episcopal priest was sandwiched between two High School football players, who insisted on tossing her the sandbags until she let on that her strong looks may deceive and asked if he would hand them to her. We share ourselves through communicating together, which is why we have started a special blog called Iowa Waters to listen to one another. (Link through our Diocesan website, or directly to http://www.iowawaters.blogspot.com/)
Thirdly, we commit to a long term action of service. I was reminded that there are several stages – this watching and holding back phase; the immediate caring of the evacuees and those most affected; then the clean up crews and the planners and the rebuilding; eventually we have also decided as a Church to be present for the mental and spiritual health needs as they arise once bravery and adrenaline drop with the water levels.
Today [Friday, June 13] leaders of almost all the faith denominations held a conference call to map out how we can carry out as coordinated an effort as possible. We have offered the new web-site (Iowa Waters) which Pat Genereux put together for our communication to the ecumenical community. It is being expanded as a vehicle for news from the ecumenical community. We are talking about obtaining some volunteer coordinators in order to be ready for what we expect to be a rush of men and women eager to clean up and rebuild.
Above all we know that the Church is not the Red Cross or FEMA or the insurance business, and we need to be able to guide people for the assistance which can come from those official sources. We will wait our turn to meet longer term needs. And in the meantime pay attention as best we can to those with special needs, those without sure employment or resources, even those recently arrived in our state.
We gather then today to find God as our tower of strength, not our rescuer from hardship. As Eucharistic Prayer C says at its conclusion “Deliver us from the presumption of coming to this Table for solace only and not for strength, for pardon only and not for renewal.” These are hard words when we really need Christ’s saving embrace; when we need the Christ who calms the storm to show up on the waves. Instead He shows up on the sandbag line, with the offertory box, in our loving embraces and our resolute spirits, in our wiping away of tears, and in our stubborn willingness of faith always to give thanks for the gift of water.
Yours in the peace of Christ that passes understanding,
+Alan Scarfe, Bishop of Iowa
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Sermon -- 25 May 2008
PROPER 3 / 2 AFTER PENTECOST — 25 May 2008
St. Michael’s, Mount Pleasant — 9:00 am
Isaiah 49:8-16a Psalm 131 1Cor 4:1-5 Matt 6:24-34
“You cannot serve God and wealth.”
I assume that most of you noticed that Easter came very early this year. As a consequence, of course, Pentecost also came very early, as did Trinity Sunday. What you may not have noticed (and to be honest, why should you?) is that today, when we move on to the remaining Sundays of the year, the “Sundays after Pentecost,” the summer-and-fall “green season,” we begin in the Sunday Lectionary with “Proper 3.” This is the earliest numbered Proper that we can use on Sundays after Pentecost. We haven’t used Proper 3 in Year A since 1979. We won’t use it again in Year A until 2035. However, today’s scripture readings are not quite that rare, because, as you may know (and if you don’t know this, please do not feel guilty, because, to be honest, why should you?), the readings for Proper 3 are a duplication of the readings for the 8th Sunday after Epiphany. The reason that’s okay is that since the 8th Sunday after Epiphany comes only when Easter is very late, it cannot happen that Epiphany 8 and Proper 3 ever occur in the same year. In fact, in the average year, when Easter occurs somewhere in the middle of the range of possible dates, neither Epiphany 8 nor Proper 3 will occur. Specifically, Epiphany 8 in Year A last occurred in 1984, will occur again in three years in 2011, and then not again until 2038. The upshot of all this is that we do not hear this Sunday Gospel reading from the sixth chapter of St. Matthew very often. Certainly not once every three years, as is the case with most of the readings from Matthew. It’s more like once every ten years.
At this point you are undoubtedly saying to yourselves, “Of all the sermons that Fr. Moorhead has preached in this parish over the years when he has supplied here, so far this has to be by far the most boring.” And of course you’re probably right. My point, however, is that the Gospel today comes from that portion of St. Matthew that we call “The Sermon on the Mount,” which is well known, and the part about the birds of the air and the lilies of the field may be one of the most popular passages. It’s odd that we don’t read it on Sunday more often. After all, is not the Sermon on the Mount one of the great expressions of Christian ideals?
No, it is not. There is nothing idealistic about the Sermon on the Mount. Jesus is never idealistic. Jesus is a blunt and hard realist. Jesus tells us how it really is. And if what Jesus says doesn’t always sound realistic to us, that’s because we are the ones who don’t know what’s real. Jesus does know what’s real, and he tells us. But we prefer to live in our own fantasies and call them reality. And then we wonder why our lives are empty.
“You cannot serve God and wealth.” I suspect for many of us our initial reaction is, “Well, no fear!” Of course, we overlook the fact that by the standards of most of the rest of the world, even the most economically modest of us is filthy rich. (But that’s another sermon for another day!) We probably remember the older translations of the Bible in which this saying was rendered “You cannot serve God and mammon.” Well, that was safe. Most of us weren’t quite sure what “mammon” was and so we didn’t think we had any, and so we must not have been tempted to serve it. Yes, “mammon” is the word here in the original Greek text, but it’s not really a Greek word but a transliteration of the Aramaic word mamôn, which can mean “wealth” or “riches,” but more generally just means “property,” without any specifically negative connotations. It means “possessions.” It means “our stuff.”
Well, none of us thinks that we have chosen to serve mammon instead of God. But when Jesus starts talking about my stuff, then he’s gone off preaching and started meddling! The real choice of what we serve is not disclosed by what we tell ourselves. Each one of us is a most persuasive con artist — to ourselves. Our real choice of what we serve is shown by what in fact we do. Where do we really put our time, our talent, our treasure? We can espouse all the lofty ideals we want, but where do we really stack the chips? What are the things that we don’t quite get to because we’re “too busy”? When do we find ourselves saying, “Yes, but first.…”? How much of ourselves are we really giving to God and God’s Kingdom — and I don’t just mean “the church,” I mean God’s people, God’s world, our families, our friends, the people we don’t like or even know but who need us? “Yes, but.…” “Yes, but what?”
“Strive first for the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.” One of the themes that seems to be floating around in this country these days — especially on TV — and not just in our country — is what is called “Prosperity Gospel.” If you serve God, God will bless you — with material prosperity. Strive first for the kingdom, and you’ll have all the food and drink and clothing you want! Well, maybe. I seem to recall Jesus saying, “Take up your cross and follow me.” The promise is resurrection: new life, real life, eternal life. But resurrection comes only by the way of the cross. Before we can be born anew we have to die — die to getting and having and possessing. And that is a real death. In our society, we measure value quantitatively — I am what I have. My net worth is given by a balance sheet of financial assets and liabilities. We are so accustomed to everything we really need, if not quite everything we want, that we find it hard to believe that in the end none of it really matters. Not even food and drink and clothing. None of our stuff really matters, in the end. We say, “You can’t take it with you!” and we laugh about it. But that’s true. It really doesn’t matter what we have or don’t have, because in the end we have nothing anyway — nothing but our own selves before God. And what kind of selves will we be?
Jesus does not promise to make us rich. In fact, he rather clearly suggests that being rich is not all that desirable. Jesus promises to make us free. Jesus promises to make us alive, really alive, eternally alive, not just in the sweet by and by, but now, if we will choose life, if we really will be free from having-or-not-having, and strive first for the kingdom of God and his righteousness. And from the perspective of life — real, full, true, eternal life — what else in there that really matters?
Memorial Day — BCP page 839
O Judge of the nations, we remember before you with grateful
hearts the men and women of our country who in the day of
decision ventured much for the liberties we now enjoy. Grant
that we may not rest until all the people of this land share the
benefits of true freedom and gladly accept its disciplines. This
we ask in the Name of Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
St. Michael’s, Mount Pleasant — 9:00 am
Isaiah 49:8-16a Psalm 131 1Cor 4:1-5 Matt 6:24-34
“You cannot serve God and wealth.”
I assume that most of you noticed that Easter came very early this year. As a consequence, of course, Pentecost also came very early, as did Trinity Sunday. What you may not have noticed (and to be honest, why should you?) is that today, when we move on to the remaining Sundays of the year, the “Sundays after Pentecost,” the summer-and-fall “green season,” we begin in the Sunday Lectionary with “Proper 3.” This is the earliest numbered Proper that we can use on Sundays after Pentecost. We haven’t used Proper 3 in Year A since 1979. We won’t use it again in Year A until 2035. However, today’s scripture readings are not quite that rare, because, as you may know (and if you don’t know this, please do not feel guilty, because, to be honest, why should you?), the readings for Proper 3 are a duplication of the readings for the 8th Sunday after Epiphany. The reason that’s okay is that since the 8th Sunday after Epiphany comes only when Easter is very late, it cannot happen that Epiphany 8 and Proper 3 ever occur in the same year. In fact, in the average year, when Easter occurs somewhere in the middle of the range of possible dates, neither Epiphany 8 nor Proper 3 will occur. Specifically, Epiphany 8 in Year A last occurred in 1984, will occur again in three years in 2011, and then not again until 2038. The upshot of all this is that we do not hear this Sunday Gospel reading from the sixth chapter of St. Matthew very often. Certainly not once every three years, as is the case with most of the readings from Matthew. It’s more like once every ten years.
At this point you are undoubtedly saying to yourselves, “Of all the sermons that Fr. Moorhead has preached in this parish over the years when he has supplied here, so far this has to be by far the most boring.” And of course you’re probably right. My point, however, is that the Gospel today comes from that portion of St. Matthew that we call “The Sermon on the Mount,” which is well known, and the part about the birds of the air and the lilies of the field may be one of the most popular passages. It’s odd that we don’t read it on Sunday more often. After all, is not the Sermon on the Mount one of the great expressions of Christian ideals?
No, it is not. There is nothing idealistic about the Sermon on the Mount. Jesus is never idealistic. Jesus is a blunt and hard realist. Jesus tells us how it really is. And if what Jesus says doesn’t always sound realistic to us, that’s because we are the ones who don’t know what’s real. Jesus does know what’s real, and he tells us. But we prefer to live in our own fantasies and call them reality. And then we wonder why our lives are empty.
“You cannot serve God and wealth.” I suspect for many of us our initial reaction is, “Well, no fear!” Of course, we overlook the fact that by the standards of most of the rest of the world, even the most economically modest of us is filthy rich. (But that’s another sermon for another day!) We probably remember the older translations of the Bible in which this saying was rendered “You cannot serve God and mammon.” Well, that was safe. Most of us weren’t quite sure what “mammon” was and so we didn’t think we had any, and so we must not have been tempted to serve it. Yes, “mammon” is the word here in the original Greek text, but it’s not really a Greek word but a transliteration of the Aramaic word mamôn, which can mean “wealth” or “riches,” but more generally just means “property,” without any specifically negative connotations. It means “possessions.” It means “our stuff.”
Well, none of us thinks that we have chosen to serve mammon instead of God. But when Jesus starts talking about my stuff, then he’s gone off preaching and started meddling! The real choice of what we serve is not disclosed by what we tell ourselves. Each one of us is a most persuasive con artist — to ourselves. Our real choice of what we serve is shown by what in fact we do. Where do we really put our time, our talent, our treasure? We can espouse all the lofty ideals we want, but where do we really stack the chips? What are the things that we don’t quite get to because we’re “too busy”? When do we find ourselves saying, “Yes, but first.…”? How much of ourselves are we really giving to God and God’s Kingdom — and I don’t just mean “the church,” I mean God’s people, God’s world, our families, our friends, the people we don’t like or even know but who need us? “Yes, but.…” “Yes, but what?”
“Strive first for the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.” One of the themes that seems to be floating around in this country these days — especially on TV — and not just in our country — is what is called “Prosperity Gospel.” If you serve God, God will bless you — with material prosperity. Strive first for the kingdom, and you’ll have all the food and drink and clothing you want! Well, maybe. I seem to recall Jesus saying, “Take up your cross and follow me.” The promise is resurrection: new life, real life, eternal life. But resurrection comes only by the way of the cross. Before we can be born anew we have to die — die to getting and having and possessing. And that is a real death. In our society, we measure value quantitatively — I am what I have. My net worth is given by a balance sheet of financial assets and liabilities. We are so accustomed to everything we really need, if not quite everything we want, that we find it hard to believe that in the end none of it really matters. Not even food and drink and clothing. None of our stuff really matters, in the end. We say, “You can’t take it with you!” and we laugh about it. But that’s true. It really doesn’t matter what we have or don’t have, because in the end we have nothing anyway — nothing but our own selves before God. And what kind of selves will we be?
Jesus does not promise to make us rich. In fact, he rather clearly suggests that being rich is not all that desirable. Jesus promises to make us free. Jesus promises to make us alive, really alive, eternally alive, not just in the sweet by and by, but now, if we will choose life, if we really will be free from having-or-not-having, and strive first for the kingdom of God and his righteousness. And from the perspective of life — real, full, true, eternal life — what else in there that really matters?
Memorial Day — BCP page 839
O Judge of the nations, we remember before you with grateful
hearts the men and women of our country who in the day of
decision ventured much for the liberties we now enjoy. Grant
that we may not rest until all the people of this land share the
benefits of true freedom and gladly accept its disciplines. This
we ask in the Name of Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
Sunday, May 4, 2008
Sermon -- 4 May 2008
7th of Easter — 4 May 2008
Trinity, Iowa City — 8:45 & 11:00
Acts 1:6-14 Ps 68:1-10,33-36 1Peter 4:12-14;5:6-11 John 17:1-11
“Lord, is this the time when you will restore the kingdom to Israel?”
“Lord, is this the time when you will restore the kingdom to Israel?!!! :-)”
[Pounding forehead] “Some of you have been with me for years! You stayed together even after I was killed, until I came to be with you anew. And we have all been together for the last forty days, and we’ve been talking about the kingdom of God, and I have promised that you will be baptized with the Holy Spirit! And you are still asking, ‘Hey, is now the time when you are finally going to restore the kingdom to Israel?’ Do You Still Not Get It?!”
Well, actually, that’s not what Jesus said. (Though I suspect he may have thought it!) What he said was, “It isn’t for you to know either the scheduled moments or the appropriate times (the chronous or the kairous, it says in Greek) that the Father has determined by his own authority. But when the Holy Spirit has come upon you, you will receive power [not the power to rule over others, but the strength in yourselves to be and to do], and you will be my witnesses (we don’t know how Jesus said that in Aramaic; the Greek word is “martyrs,” but it’s not clear that the word had yet acquired its subsequent connotation of “witnessing even to the point of suffering and death”)…you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem…”
[“Okay, well, here we are! Jerusalem is right across the valley there!”]
“…and in all of Judea…”
[“Well, yes, sure, let’s do the whole province!”]
“…and Samaria…]
[“What? Even down to Samaria?! Do we really have to go to Samaria?”]
“…and to the very ends of the earth.”
Whoo-hoo!
So much for just restoring the kingdom to Israel!
We are Jesus’ witnesses. Whether we like it or not, our lives are visible testimonies to the redeeming, healing, unifying power of Jesus Christ in this fallen, broken, alienated world.
Part of what’s involved in being Jesus’ witnesses surely is paying some attention to exactly what witness we’re giving. Some of that has to do with language—what we say about Jesus. But who and what is this Jesus? The Divine Logos, the Word who was in the beginning with God and who was and is God, did not become flesh in order to be an object of religion. Jesus did not found a personality cult. The point of the Gospel is not Jesus but the Reign of God. The so-called liberal protestant Biblical scholars of a few generations ago were much too simplistic when they opposed the Gospel preached by Jesus to an alleged Gospel about Jesus preached by Paul and the early Church. But the person of Jesus is inseparable from the Gospel of the Reign of God, because it is in the person of Jesus, not only in his preaching and teaching and healing but in his death and resurrection, that the Reign of God is not only proclaimed and demonstrated but inaugurated, implemented, opened to us. But those old scholars were right about this: the point of the Gospel is not Jesus, but the Reign of God.
In the first reading this morning, the angels (I guess that’s what they were) chide the disciples: “Yo, Galileans, what are you guys doing just standing around staring at the sky?” What kind of witness do we bear when we celebrate the Ascension of Jesus? I think the Ascension of Jesus is important as an aspect of the Resurrection, and it’s good that we celebrate it liturgically, but the point is not to stand around staring into the sky watching Jesus lift off. That’s not what it’s about. What is it about? Part of it, anyway, I think, is just that Jesus is removing himself from the center of attention; just as he said to Mary Magdalene on Easter morning, “Do not hang on to me,” so now he is sending his followers out to bear witness for his cause, which is the Kingdom of God.
The Kingdom of God, the Reign of God — the whole rich and diverse treasure which God wills to share with the creation — peace, and love, and joy, and truth, and goodness, and beauty, and justice, and integrity, and wholeness. This Kingdom is not a geographical region or a political order or a power structure like an earthly kingdom but a whole new state of affairs, a new realm, a new context of life.
How do we bear witness to the Reign of God (which is what being witnesses to Jesus means)? We bear witness by living within God’s Reign ourselves. (Ay, there’s the rub!) Not just by being religious, but by being holy, which is a very different (and very much more difficult) thing: bearing witness to wholeness within a broken world — even from within our own brokenness bearing witness to wholeness that a broken world may share with us in our hope. Being persons in whom the Reign of God can be seen, and seen as credible, and seen as possible.
“You will be my witnesses.” Yes, we will. Yes, we are. For good or for ill, we will be his witnesses. Future indicative; now realized in the present; simple fact. We are his witnesses. But also future indicative, now realized in the present, simple fact: “you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you”; and therefore we will be able, therefore we are able, to be his witnesses—in Iowa City, and Coralville and in all Johnson County, and to the ends of the earth.
Trinity, Iowa City — 8:45 & 11:00
Acts 1:6-14 Ps 68:1-10,33-36 1Peter 4:12-14;5:6-11 John 17:1-11
“Lord, is this the time when you will restore the kingdom to Israel?”
“Lord, is this the time when you will restore the kingdom to Israel?!!! :-)”
[Pounding forehead] “Some of you have been with me for years! You stayed together even after I was killed, until I came to be with you anew. And we have all been together for the last forty days, and we’ve been talking about the kingdom of God, and I have promised that you will be baptized with the Holy Spirit! And you are still asking, ‘Hey, is now the time when you are finally going to restore the kingdom to Israel?’ Do You Still Not Get It?!”
Well, actually, that’s not what Jesus said. (Though I suspect he may have thought it!) What he said was, “It isn’t for you to know either the scheduled moments or the appropriate times (the chronous or the kairous, it says in Greek) that the Father has determined by his own authority. But when the Holy Spirit has come upon you, you will receive power [not the power to rule over others, but the strength in yourselves to be and to do], and you will be my witnesses (we don’t know how Jesus said that in Aramaic; the Greek word is “martyrs,” but it’s not clear that the word had yet acquired its subsequent connotation of “witnessing even to the point of suffering and death”)…you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem…”
[“Okay, well, here we are! Jerusalem is right across the valley there!”]
“…and in all of Judea…”
[“Well, yes, sure, let’s do the whole province!”]
“…and Samaria…]
[“What? Even down to Samaria?! Do we really have to go to Samaria?”]
“…and to the very ends of the earth.”
Whoo-hoo!
So much for just restoring the kingdom to Israel!
We are Jesus’ witnesses. Whether we like it or not, our lives are visible testimonies to the redeeming, healing, unifying power of Jesus Christ in this fallen, broken, alienated world.
Part of what’s involved in being Jesus’ witnesses surely is paying some attention to exactly what witness we’re giving. Some of that has to do with language—what we say about Jesus. But who and what is this Jesus? The Divine Logos, the Word who was in the beginning with God and who was and is God, did not become flesh in order to be an object of religion. Jesus did not found a personality cult. The point of the Gospel is not Jesus but the Reign of God. The so-called liberal protestant Biblical scholars of a few generations ago were much too simplistic when they opposed the Gospel preached by Jesus to an alleged Gospel about Jesus preached by Paul and the early Church. But the person of Jesus is inseparable from the Gospel of the Reign of God, because it is in the person of Jesus, not only in his preaching and teaching and healing but in his death and resurrection, that the Reign of God is not only proclaimed and demonstrated but inaugurated, implemented, opened to us. But those old scholars were right about this: the point of the Gospel is not Jesus, but the Reign of God.
In the first reading this morning, the angels (I guess that’s what they were) chide the disciples: “Yo, Galileans, what are you guys doing just standing around staring at the sky?” What kind of witness do we bear when we celebrate the Ascension of Jesus? I think the Ascension of Jesus is important as an aspect of the Resurrection, and it’s good that we celebrate it liturgically, but the point is not to stand around staring into the sky watching Jesus lift off. That’s not what it’s about. What is it about? Part of it, anyway, I think, is just that Jesus is removing himself from the center of attention; just as he said to Mary Magdalene on Easter morning, “Do not hang on to me,” so now he is sending his followers out to bear witness for his cause, which is the Kingdom of God.
The Kingdom of God, the Reign of God — the whole rich and diverse treasure which God wills to share with the creation — peace, and love, and joy, and truth, and goodness, and beauty, and justice, and integrity, and wholeness. This Kingdom is not a geographical region or a political order or a power structure like an earthly kingdom but a whole new state of affairs, a new realm, a new context of life.
How do we bear witness to the Reign of God (which is what being witnesses to Jesus means)? We bear witness by living within God’s Reign ourselves. (Ay, there’s the rub!) Not just by being religious, but by being holy, which is a very different (and very much more difficult) thing: bearing witness to wholeness within a broken world — even from within our own brokenness bearing witness to wholeness that a broken world may share with us in our hope. Being persons in whom the Reign of God can be seen, and seen as credible, and seen as possible.
“You will be my witnesses.” Yes, we will. Yes, we are. For good or for ill, we will be his witnesses. Future indicative; now realized in the present; simple fact. We are his witnesses. But also future indicative, now realized in the present, simple fact: “you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you”; and therefore we will be able, therefore we are able, to be his witnesses—in Iowa City, and Coralville and in all Johnson County, and to the ends of the earth.
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Sermon -- 30 March 2008
2 of Easter—30 March 2008
St. John’s, Keokuk — 10:00
Acts 3:2:14a,22-32 Ps 16 1 Peter 1:3-9 John 20:19-31
Thomas said to them, “Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands . . . I will not believe.”
“[The White Queen said to Alice,] Now I’ll give you something to believe. I’m just one hundred and one, five months and a day.’
“‘I ca’n’t believe that!’ said Alice.
“‘Ca’n’t you?’ the Queen said in a pitying tone. ‘Try again: draw a long breath, and shut your eyes.’
“Alice laughed. ‘There’s no use trying,’ she said: ‘one ca’n’t believe impossible things.’
“‘I daresay you haven’t had much practice,’ said the Queen. ‘When I was your age, I always did it for half-an-hour a day. Why, sometimes I’ve believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.’”
(From Through the Looking-Glass, by Lewis Carroll.)
The apostle Thomas is not good at believing impossible things. One of the impossible things he can’t believe is that dead people come back to life and visit their friends. (Yes, even in the first century they knew that was impossible!) So Thomas doubts. And at this point we can have a certain amount of sympathy with Thomas.
But there are other reasons why we doubt, besides skepticism about things we think are impossible, and some of them are probably more important in the basic issues of life. Maybe some of them were what was really behind Thomas’ doubting. Maybe some of them are what is behind our own doubting.
Sometimes we doubt out of fear. We doubt that “Proposition A” is true, because if “Proposition A” is true, then that has consequences that affect the way we live our lives; and we are afraid of those consequences and afraid of the effect they will have on our lives. So we deal with our fear of the consequence by doubting the antecedent.
Maybe sometimes it isn’t so much fear as stubbornness. We don’t want to change the way we live our lives, and so we refuse to face up to any claim that would involve changing. We close our eyes. We stop our ears. We try to drown it out by running our own mouths. We distract ourselves. We change the subject. We ridicule. We go into denial. We doubt.
And maybe sometimes it’s neither fear nor even just simple stubbornness. Sometimes maybe it’s conscious, willful, self-centered, self-satisfied pride. We just ain’t gonna believe because we just ain’t gonna let anything but ourselves be at the center of our little worlds. Nothing and nobody is gonna define my reality for me but me! Our doubting is an act of defiance. Here we’re getting into the realm of the sin against the Holy Spirit; it’s a good way to go to hell.
I don’t know where Thomas was in this picture. I think not in the last category, defiance, nor even in the second, stubbornness. Perhaps in the first, fear. I don’t know where you are; I’m not even sure where I am.
But they are all stages in faithlessness, and faithlessness is the issue which Jesus addresses when Thomas finally sees him. “Do not doubt, but believe. . . . Blessed are those who have not seen and yet believe.” (The English translations usually fumble this verse, which in Greek plays on the word that we translate “faith” or “belief.” “Do not be an unbeliever, but a believer,” reflects the play on words; “Do not be faithless, but faithful” is much more on target. Mé ginou apistos alla pistos, the text says.) (Don’t let it be said that the sermons in this church aren’t multi-cultural!)
“Faith” is not the willingness to believe six impossible things before breakfast. “Faith” has to do with trust, it has to do with being willing to be open to, being willing to accept, being willing to receive, the life-giving power of the Risen Christ. It has to do with being willing to let go of our fears, our stubbornness, our pride. It has to do with being willing to let our lives be changed. If we are not willing to let God raise our lives through Jesus Christ, I’m not sure it matters a whole lot whether we believe that God raised Jesus or not. If we are willing to receive the power of new life through Jesus Christ, then his resurrection is indubitable; we’ve experienced it ourselves.
In the Gospel today Jesus says to his disciples, “Receive the Holy Spirit,” and he gives them power over the brokenness of human life. And that’s really the text and the issue in the Gospel for today. “Receive the Holy Spirit.” Jesus gives us the power to live within the Reign of God; he gives us the power to proclaim God’s Reign to others; he gives us the power to enact the Reign of God in this world. Jesus not only gives us the power, he gives us the commission, the mandate, to do so. And that, I think, is where we really start doing our serious doubting.
This applies to each of us personally, individually, but it also applies to all of us corporately as the Church, and to you as a congregation—especially now as you reflect on your challenges and opportunities as a worshipping and ministering community. “Receive the Holy Spirit” for the work of the Reign of God in this place: that’s a promise, that’s a promise that’s already been delivered on. Will we accept it, will we receive it, will we believe it, will we let ourselves be transformed by it? Will we trust God? Or will we let our fears, our stubbornness, maybe even our damnable pride keep us among the doubters? You in this parish, and all of us throughout the church, we can be what God calls us to be; we can do what God calls us to do. We don’t need anything we haven’t already received. “Receive the Holy Spirit … Do not be faithless, but faithful.… Blessed are those who have not seen and yet believe.”
St. John’s, Keokuk — 10:00
Acts 3:2:14a,22-32 Ps 16 1 Peter 1:3-9 John 20:19-31
Thomas said to them, “Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands . . . I will not believe.”
“[The White Queen said to Alice,] Now I’ll give you something to believe. I’m just one hundred and one, five months and a day.’
“‘I ca’n’t believe that!’ said Alice.
“‘Ca’n’t you?’ the Queen said in a pitying tone. ‘Try again: draw a long breath, and shut your eyes.’
“Alice laughed. ‘There’s no use trying,’ she said: ‘one ca’n’t believe impossible things.’
“‘I daresay you haven’t had much practice,’ said the Queen. ‘When I was your age, I always did it for half-an-hour a day. Why, sometimes I’ve believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.’”
(From Through the Looking-Glass, by Lewis Carroll.)
The apostle Thomas is not good at believing impossible things. One of the impossible things he can’t believe is that dead people come back to life and visit their friends. (Yes, even in the first century they knew that was impossible!) So Thomas doubts. And at this point we can have a certain amount of sympathy with Thomas.
But there are other reasons why we doubt, besides skepticism about things we think are impossible, and some of them are probably more important in the basic issues of life. Maybe some of them were what was really behind Thomas’ doubting. Maybe some of them are what is behind our own doubting.
Sometimes we doubt out of fear. We doubt that “Proposition A” is true, because if “Proposition A” is true, then that has consequences that affect the way we live our lives; and we are afraid of those consequences and afraid of the effect they will have on our lives. So we deal with our fear of the consequence by doubting the antecedent.
Maybe sometimes it isn’t so much fear as stubbornness. We don’t want to change the way we live our lives, and so we refuse to face up to any claim that would involve changing. We close our eyes. We stop our ears. We try to drown it out by running our own mouths. We distract ourselves. We change the subject. We ridicule. We go into denial. We doubt.
And maybe sometimes it’s neither fear nor even just simple stubbornness. Sometimes maybe it’s conscious, willful, self-centered, self-satisfied pride. We just ain’t gonna believe because we just ain’t gonna let anything but ourselves be at the center of our little worlds. Nothing and nobody is gonna define my reality for me but me! Our doubting is an act of defiance. Here we’re getting into the realm of the sin against the Holy Spirit; it’s a good way to go to hell.
I don’t know where Thomas was in this picture. I think not in the last category, defiance, nor even in the second, stubbornness. Perhaps in the first, fear. I don’t know where you are; I’m not even sure where I am.
But they are all stages in faithlessness, and faithlessness is the issue which Jesus addresses when Thomas finally sees him. “Do not doubt, but believe. . . . Blessed are those who have not seen and yet believe.” (The English translations usually fumble this verse, which in Greek plays on the word that we translate “faith” or “belief.” “Do not be an unbeliever, but a believer,” reflects the play on words; “Do not be faithless, but faithful” is much more on target. Mé ginou apistos alla pistos, the text says.) (Don’t let it be said that the sermons in this church aren’t multi-cultural!)
“Faith” is not the willingness to believe six impossible things before breakfast. “Faith” has to do with trust, it has to do with being willing to be open to, being willing to accept, being willing to receive, the life-giving power of the Risen Christ. It has to do with being willing to let go of our fears, our stubbornness, our pride. It has to do with being willing to let our lives be changed. If we are not willing to let God raise our lives through Jesus Christ, I’m not sure it matters a whole lot whether we believe that God raised Jesus or not. If we are willing to receive the power of new life through Jesus Christ, then his resurrection is indubitable; we’ve experienced it ourselves.
In the Gospel today Jesus says to his disciples, “Receive the Holy Spirit,” and he gives them power over the brokenness of human life. And that’s really the text and the issue in the Gospel for today. “Receive the Holy Spirit.” Jesus gives us the power to live within the Reign of God; he gives us the power to proclaim God’s Reign to others; he gives us the power to enact the Reign of God in this world. Jesus not only gives us the power, he gives us the commission, the mandate, to do so. And that, I think, is where we really start doing our serious doubting.
This applies to each of us personally, individually, but it also applies to all of us corporately as the Church, and to you as a congregation—especially now as you reflect on your challenges and opportunities as a worshipping and ministering community. “Receive the Holy Spirit” for the work of the Reign of God in this place: that’s a promise, that’s a promise that’s already been delivered on. Will we accept it, will we receive it, will we believe it, will we let ourselves be transformed by it? Will we trust God? Or will we let our fears, our stubbornness, maybe even our damnable pride keep us among the doubters? You in this parish, and all of us throughout the church, we can be what God calls us to be; we can do what God calls us to do. We don’t need anything we haven’t already received. “Receive the Holy Spirit … Do not be faithless, but faithful.… Blessed are those who have not seen and yet believe.”
Sunday, March 9, 2008
Sermon -- 9 March 2008
5 LENT—9 March 2008
St. Mark’s, Maquoketa—10:00
Ezekiel 37:1-14 Psalm 130 Romans 8:6-11 John 11:1-45
“I am going to open your graves, and bring you up from your graves, O my people. I will put my Spirit within you, and you shall live!”
Long, long ago (though not in a galaxy far far away, but just on the other side of our own planet!), God called Abraham to leave his home and father in Mesopotamia and to go to a new land, where, God promised, he would become the ancestor of nations. And, in faith, Abraham went. And his family prospered and multiplied in the land of Canaan.
Yet famine drove his descendents south into Egypt, where they were eventually reduced to slavery. But God liberated them from their bondage, with great signs and wonders, and God gave them the Torah, the holy Law, to teach them how to live, and God promised, “You will be my people and I will be your God.” And God brought them back to their own land.
Again they flourished; and from among them God raised up a shepherd boy to be king. And God promised David, “Your dynasty shall reign forever over my people Israel.” And David’s son Solomon, the next king, built a great temple, where the Name of the Lord God of Israel might dwell, at Jerusalem in the midst of God’s people.
[Pause] And now that temple lies in smoldering ruins. The land lies desolate and abandoned, pillaged by the heathen Babylonians. And the People of God languish in exile. “Our bones are dried up, and our hope is lost; we are cut off completely.” The promises have all come to naught. God has forgotten us. If indeed God is even there. All is lost.
But God has not forgotten; and in far-off Babylon God speaks to the priest Ezekiel: “Mortal, Ben-Adam, Humanchild, can these bones live?” And Ezekiel says, “You know, Lord God.” And God says, “I am going to open your graves, and bring you up from your graves, O my people. And I will put my Spirit within you, and you shall live.”
In the Gospel today we see another of Jesus’ signs. Now, Jesus’ miracles are never just “wonders” to astound the onlookers, they are always signs which point to the breaking in of the Reign of God; they are effective signs which themselves inaugurate the breaking in of the Reign of God. In the case of the raising of Lazarus, we see and experience the glory and power of God, and that it is God’s will and purpose, indeed, God’s very nature, to give new life to God’s people. If Jesus were concerned only for Lazarus and for Lazarus’s sisters Mary and Martha, he could have arrived in time to save Lazarus from death. Jesus makes rather a point of not arriving in time, actually, and is reproached for it by Martha and Mary. But God had a more important vocation for Lazarus—to be someone in whom the glory of God would be shown forth.
The raising of Lazarus was not an ultimate resurrection—that is, Lazarus was resuscitated and restored to his previous state of life, but later on in due course he would die again. But it was a real raising from a real death—Jesus waited until he had been dead four days—so that everyone would understand that Lazarus was really dead. The Gospel, the good news, is not just that God can rescue us in the nick of time, but that the power of God can reverse a final situation. Lazarus was dead—stinking dead—and Jesus called him out of his grave. And Lazarus came out.
And that’s the Gospel. That’s the Good News. God raises the dead. The Gospel is not just about some sort of personal immortality in which our souls survive somehow in some sort of afterlife. The Good News is not that somehow everything will be patched up. It is not that we can go back to some Good Old Days. It is not just that we can escape this vale of tears, or somehow get through it with minimal damage. There is no such promise. God’s promise is that we, and this whole vale of tears with us, our whole valley of dry bones, will in Christ become a new creation, raised and brought to fulfillment. This new creation, this new life, is fully accomplished only at the consummation of the ages, but it begins in us now. We do not escape death (in any of the many ways the power of death intrudes and encroaches upon our lives)—but we pass over from death to new life, risen life, through the death-conquering Passover of Jesus. The power of sin and death and hell is not escaped, it is not avoided; it is finally and forever broken. And although the fullness of the realization of this victory is not yet, the beginning and the promise and the effective sign of it are already. God can raise us from the dead now.
As we think about this in terms of our common life and mission as Christians in the world, and as you think about this as your Christian parish community in this place in the world, let us think on this: When Jesus called, “Lazarus, come out of there!” ol’ Lazarus could presumably have just lain there and replied, “Oh, no thanks, it’s okay, I’m comfortable this way, this is how we’ve always done it, so if you don’t mind I’ll just lie here and stink.” But he didn’t. Lazarus came out of there.
This Lent—as indeed always—Jesus is calling to us: “Come out of there!”
“I am going to open your graves, and bring you up from your graves, O my people. I will put my Spirit within you, and you shall live!”
St. Mark’s, Maquoketa—10:00
Ezekiel 37:1-14 Psalm 130 Romans 8:6-11 John 11:1-45
“I am going to open your graves, and bring you up from your graves, O my people. I will put my Spirit within you, and you shall live!”
Long, long ago (though not in a galaxy far far away, but just on the other side of our own planet!), God called Abraham to leave his home and father in Mesopotamia and to go to a new land, where, God promised, he would become the ancestor of nations. And, in faith, Abraham went. And his family prospered and multiplied in the land of Canaan.
Yet famine drove his descendents south into Egypt, where they were eventually reduced to slavery. But God liberated them from their bondage, with great signs and wonders, and God gave them the Torah, the holy Law, to teach them how to live, and God promised, “You will be my people and I will be your God.” And God brought them back to their own land.
Again they flourished; and from among them God raised up a shepherd boy to be king. And God promised David, “Your dynasty shall reign forever over my people Israel.” And David’s son Solomon, the next king, built a great temple, where the Name of the Lord God of Israel might dwell, at Jerusalem in the midst of God’s people.
[Pause] And now that temple lies in smoldering ruins. The land lies desolate and abandoned, pillaged by the heathen Babylonians. And the People of God languish in exile. “Our bones are dried up, and our hope is lost; we are cut off completely.” The promises have all come to naught. God has forgotten us. If indeed God is even there. All is lost.
But God has not forgotten; and in far-off Babylon God speaks to the priest Ezekiel: “Mortal, Ben-Adam, Humanchild, can these bones live?” And Ezekiel says, “You know, Lord God.” And God says, “I am going to open your graves, and bring you up from your graves, O my people. And I will put my Spirit within you, and you shall live.”
In the Gospel today we see another of Jesus’ signs. Now, Jesus’ miracles are never just “wonders” to astound the onlookers, they are always signs which point to the breaking in of the Reign of God; they are effective signs which themselves inaugurate the breaking in of the Reign of God. In the case of the raising of Lazarus, we see and experience the glory and power of God, and that it is God’s will and purpose, indeed, God’s very nature, to give new life to God’s people. If Jesus were concerned only for Lazarus and for Lazarus’s sisters Mary and Martha, he could have arrived in time to save Lazarus from death. Jesus makes rather a point of not arriving in time, actually, and is reproached for it by Martha and Mary. But God had a more important vocation for Lazarus—to be someone in whom the glory of God would be shown forth.
The raising of Lazarus was not an ultimate resurrection—that is, Lazarus was resuscitated and restored to his previous state of life, but later on in due course he would die again. But it was a real raising from a real death—Jesus waited until he had been dead four days—so that everyone would understand that Lazarus was really dead. The Gospel, the good news, is not just that God can rescue us in the nick of time, but that the power of God can reverse a final situation. Lazarus was dead—stinking dead—and Jesus called him out of his grave. And Lazarus came out.
And that’s the Gospel. That’s the Good News. God raises the dead. The Gospel is not just about some sort of personal immortality in which our souls survive somehow in some sort of afterlife. The Good News is not that somehow everything will be patched up. It is not that we can go back to some Good Old Days. It is not just that we can escape this vale of tears, or somehow get through it with minimal damage. There is no such promise. God’s promise is that we, and this whole vale of tears with us, our whole valley of dry bones, will in Christ become a new creation, raised and brought to fulfillment. This new creation, this new life, is fully accomplished only at the consummation of the ages, but it begins in us now. We do not escape death (in any of the many ways the power of death intrudes and encroaches upon our lives)—but we pass over from death to new life, risen life, through the death-conquering Passover of Jesus. The power of sin and death and hell is not escaped, it is not avoided; it is finally and forever broken. And although the fullness of the realization of this victory is not yet, the beginning and the promise and the effective sign of it are already. God can raise us from the dead now.
As we think about this in terms of our common life and mission as Christians in the world, and as you think about this as your Christian parish community in this place in the world, let us think on this: When Jesus called, “Lazarus, come out of there!” ol’ Lazarus could presumably have just lain there and replied, “Oh, no thanks, it’s okay, I’m comfortable this way, this is how we’ve always done it, so if you don’t mind I’ll just lie here and stink.” But he didn’t. Lazarus came out of there.
This Lent—as indeed always—Jesus is calling to us: “Come out of there!”
“I am going to open your graves, and bring you up from your graves, O my people. I will put my Spirit within you, and you shall live!”
Monday, March 3, 2008
Sermon -- 2 March 2008
4th Sunday in Lent — 2 March 2008
St. John’s, Keokuk — 10:00
1Sam 16:1-13 Ps 23 Eph 5:8-14 John 9:1-41
“Sleeper, awake! Rise from the dead, and Christ will shine on you.”
This text, from today’s Epistle, the Letter to the Ephesians, seems to be a line from an early Christian hymn that St. Paul is quoting. And it’s a very apt summary of the good news, the Gospel. “Once you were darkness,” the apostle says; “but now in the Lord you are light. Live as children of light.”
There’s something almost inevitable about the symbolism of light and darkness. There’s nothing esoteric about this symbolism — it’s very immediate. We use it all the time. Darkness is a symbol for ignorance, for instance, and light for knowledge. “I’m completely in the dark about this,” we say; “let’s shed some light on the problem.” But light and darkness are also symbols of moral value — goodness and evil, truth and falsehood, reality and nothingness. This is familiar to us, too — remember the old western movies where the villains all wore black hats and the good guys wore white hats and rode white horses?
The New Testament makes much use of the symbolism of light and darkness — especially the Gospel according to St. John. “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.…In him was life, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.”[1] So St. John’s Gospel begins. And John explains further: “Indeed, God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him.…And this is the judgment, that the light has come into the world, and people loved darkness rather than light because their deeds were evil. For all who do evil love the light and do not come to the light, so that their deeds may not be exposed. But those who do what is true come to the light, so that it may be clearly seen that their deeds have been done in God.”[2] And Jesus himself proclaims, “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness but will have the light of life.”[3]
We see this in action in the dramatic healing and subsequent encounter with the Pharisees that is related in the Gospel for today. Jesus heals a man who has been born blind. An unheard-of thing! But we need to bear in mind that Jesus does not heal the man to create awe and wonder among the onlookers. Jesus never performs stunts of that kind — that’s not what his miracles are about. Nor does Jesus do it simply out of compassion for the blind man, although certainly Jesus does have compassion for him and is concerned that he be made whole. The miracles of Jesus are always signs — that is, they point beyond themselves, they are indicators of the Reign of God. They are signals that God’s Reign is breaking in, and they tell us what that Kingdom and its King are like. So it is that Jesus points out at the beginning: “Look, this man’s blindness is not a punishment for his sins, or his parents’ sins, or anybody else’s sins. God doesn’t do that kind of thing!” That’s worth repeating: “God doesn’t do that kind of thing!” “But this man’s blindness is an occasion in which God’s great love and power can be shown.”[4] For the Reign of God is a realm in which people find healing, wholeness — God wants us to see — really to see — and to be filled with the light of the Kingdom of God.
The healing of the blind man provokes a big squabble with the Pharisees — that sect of Jews who were very devout and very committed to the Law of God — so much so that they had gotten the notion that they had some exclusive franchise on being devout and committed to the Law of God. And they were all out of joint because this healing wasn’t done according to the Rules. For one thing, it was done on the Sabbath Day, when you were forbidden to work. And for another, this Jesus had no credentials as a healer. He wasn’t licensed. He wasn’t ordained. He wasn’t a Pharisee. The Pharisees were so concerned about their own system of religious rules that they could not, would not, see the power of God even when it was right in front of their eyes. The Pharisees are the blind ones. And Jesus then: “My coming into the world is a judgment — that those who cannot see may be given sight, and that those who claim that they see may be shown to be blind.”[5] In what ways are we choosing to remain blind? What are our favorite little systems that keep us from seeing what God is doing right in front of our eyes?
God wants us to see. God wants us to know the truth about God and about ourselves, and to be filled with God’s truth, God’s life, real life forever in God’s kingdom. but we cannot receive God’s light if we continue to try to walk by our own light. Only as we recognize our own blindness can God open our eyes. Only as we admit that we are dead can God raise us to newness and fullness of life.
It’s significant that in the early days of the Church, Baptism was often spoken of as “enlightenment” or “illumination.” That’s what Jesus Christ is to be for us — illumination, the healing of our blindness, the opening of our eyes to the glory of the Reign of God. Jesus Christ is the Light of the World. By him we see and can walk the highway of the Kingdom of God into fullness of life. But we must turn away from darkness, and receive God’s gift of learning to look, and to see, and to live.
[1] John 1:1,4-5.
[2] John 3:17,19-21.
[3] John 8:12.
[4] John 9:3, my translation/paraphrase.
[5] John 9:39, my translation.
St. John’s, Keokuk — 10:00
1Sam 16:1-13 Ps 23 Eph 5:8-14 John 9:1-41
“Sleeper, awake! Rise from the dead, and Christ will shine on you.”
This text, from today’s Epistle, the Letter to the Ephesians, seems to be a line from an early Christian hymn that St. Paul is quoting. And it’s a very apt summary of the good news, the Gospel. “Once you were darkness,” the apostle says; “but now in the Lord you are light. Live as children of light.”
There’s something almost inevitable about the symbolism of light and darkness. There’s nothing esoteric about this symbolism — it’s very immediate. We use it all the time. Darkness is a symbol for ignorance, for instance, and light for knowledge. “I’m completely in the dark about this,” we say; “let’s shed some light on the problem.” But light and darkness are also symbols of moral value — goodness and evil, truth and falsehood, reality and nothingness. This is familiar to us, too — remember the old western movies where the villains all wore black hats and the good guys wore white hats and rode white horses?
The New Testament makes much use of the symbolism of light and darkness — especially the Gospel according to St. John. “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.…In him was life, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.”[1] So St. John’s Gospel begins. And John explains further: “Indeed, God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him.…And this is the judgment, that the light has come into the world, and people loved darkness rather than light because their deeds were evil. For all who do evil love the light and do not come to the light, so that their deeds may not be exposed. But those who do what is true come to the light, so that it may be clearly seen that their deeds have been done in God.”[2] And Jesus himself proclaims, “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness but will have the light of life.”[3]
We see this in action in the dramatic healing and subsequent encounter with the Pharisees that is related in the Gospel for today. Jesus heals a man who has been born blind. An unheard-of thing! But we need to bear in mind that Jesus does not heal the man to create awe and wonder among the onlookers. Jesus never performs stunts of that kind — that’s not what his miracles are about. Nor does Jesus do it simply out of compassion for the blind man, although certainly Jesus does have compassion for him and is concerned that he be made whole. The miracles of Jesus are always signs — that is, they point beyond themselves, they are indicators of the Reign of God. They are signals that God’s Reign is breaking in, and they tell us what that Kingdom and its King are like. So it is that Jesus points out at the beginning: “Look, this man’s blindness is not a punishment for his sins, or his parents’ sins, or anybody else’s sins. God doesn’t do that kind of thing!” That’s worth repeating: “God doesn’t do that kind of thing!” “But this man’s blindness is an occasion in which God’s great love and power can be shown.”[4] For the Reign of God is a realm in which people find healing, wholeness — God wants us to see — really to see — and to be filled with the light of the Kingdom of God.
The healing of the blind man provokes a big squabble with the Pharisees — that sect of Jews who were very devout and very committed to the Law of God — so much so that they had gotten the notion that they had some exclusive franchise on being devout and committed to the Law of God. And they were all out of joint because this healing wasn’t done according to the Rules. For one thing, it was done on the Sabbath Day, when you were forbidden to work. And for another, this Jesus had no credentials as a healer. He wasn’t licensed. He wasn’t ordained. He wasn’t a Pharisee. The Pharisees were so concerned about their own system of religious rules that they could not, would not, see the power of God even when it was right in front of their eyes. The Pharisees are the blind ones. And Jesus then: “My coming into the world is a judgment — that those who cannot see may be given sight, and that those who claim that they see may be shown to be blind.”[5] In what ways are we choosing to remain blind? What are our favorite little systems that keep us from seeing what God is doing right in front of our eyes?
God wants us to see. God wants us to know the truth about God and about ourselves, and to be filled with God’s truth, God’s life, real life forever in God’s kingdom. but we cannot receive God’s light if we continue to try to walk by our own light. Only as we recognize our own blindness can God open our eyes. Only as we admit that we are dead can God raise us to newness and fullness of life.
It’s significant that in the early days of the Church, Baptism was often spoken of as “enlightenment” or “illumination.” That’s what Jesus Christ is to be for us — illumination, the healing of our blindness, the opening of our eyes to the glory of the Reign of God. Jesus Christ is the Light of the World. By him we see and can walk the highway of the Kingdom of God into fullness of life. But we must turn away from darkness, and receive God’s gift of learning to look, and to see, and to live.
[1] John 1:1,4-5.
[2] John 3:17,19-21.
[3] John 8:12.
[4] John 9:3, my translation/paraphrase.
[5] John 9:39, my translation.
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