The following prayer comes from a friend's blog. This prayer is being prayed regularly at her Catholic church in Florida.
A Prayer After the Earthquake in Haiti
Lord, at times such as this,
when we realize that the ground beneath our feet
is not as solid as we had imagined,
we plead for your mercy.
As the things we have built crumble about us,
we know too well how small we truly are
on this ever-changing, ever-moving,
fragile planet we call home.
Yet you have promised never to forget us.
Do not forget us now.
Today, so many people are afraid.
They wait in fear of the next tremor.
They hear the cries of the injured amid the rubble.
They roam the streets in shock at what they see.
And they fill the dusty air with wails of grief
and the names of missing dead.
Comfort them, Lord, in this disaster.
Be their rock when the earth refuses to stand still,
and shelter them under your wings when homes no longer exist.
Embrace in your arms those who died so suddenly this day.
Console the hearts of those who mourn,
and ease the pain of bodies on the brink of death.
Pierce, too, our hearts with compassion,
we who watch from afar,
as the poorest on this side of the earth
find only misery upon misery.
Move us to act swiftly this day,
to give generously every day,
to work for justice always,
and to pray unceasingly for those without hope.
And once the shaking has ceased,
the images of destruction have stopped filling the news,
and our thoughts return to life’s daily rumblings,
let us not forget that we are all your children
and they, our brothers and sisters.
We are all the work of your hands.
For though the mountains leave their place
and the hills be tossed to the ground,
your love shall never leave us,
and your promise of peace will never be shaken.
Our help is in the name of the Lord,
who made heaven and earth.
Blessed be the name of the Lord,
now and forever. Amen.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Fourth Sunday of Advent
Luke 1: 39-45 (46-55)
+In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Here we are again. Even though it comes around every year, the Fourth Sunday of Advent always seems to sneak up on us. It’s a busy time. There’s such a lot to do and seemingly not enough time in which to do it. I’m feeling a sense of urgency, and I suspect you are too.
There’s certainly a sense of urgency among our neighbors over at Urban Ministries. What’s even more noticeable is the sense of unease that pervades the place. You can almost reach out and touch it. There are more bad moods and arguments in the soup kitchen line than there are at other times. Too many people show up on the food pantry days and we have to turn several away. Earlier in the year this news might not elicit a strong reaction, but now it may result in an angry outburst, pleading, or even tears. This year is particularly difficult given the high rate of unemployment.
Some folks at Urban Ministries have a sudden sense of focus that they didn’t have just a few weeks earlier. James (all the names are changed), who normally seems perpetually distracted, is all of a sudden focused on getting a bus ticket back home to visit his grown children. Annie, who’s normally a fairly laid-back woman, goes into high gear to assemble all the trimmings of Christmas for her children. Alvin, who normally just hangs out on the corner, is suddenly looking for a way to make a little cash. Between my minimal Spanish and Maria’s halting English I learn that she will leave no stone unturned to make sure she has an extra blanket for a visiting relative.
The time leading up to Christmas is stressful for most of us, but even more so for the poor and homeless. In a season that’s so often defined by buying, how hard it is for those with no money for gifts. In a season that glorifies the concept of being home for the holidays, how devastating it is to have no home at all. In a season that celebrates families getting together, how painful it is to have blood ties strained by poverty, addiction, or abuse. In a season known for feasting, how sad it is to have little to put on the table. Even attending a church service this time of year seems daunting for those without even a coin to drop in the collection plate. For the broken in purse and spirit, Christmas is anything but merry. It’s a season of embarrassment, even shame.
This season may be painful even for those who are more prosperous. The dark secret hidden underneath that pile of presents may be a huge credit card debt. Family gatherings may expose the estrangement that lies behind the hearty greetings and forced festiveness. Christmas may well be an emotional and logistical nightmare for those who must tread carefully in the minefield of split families and step-relations. The anxieties and addictions we’ve held in check the rest of the year may get the better of us now. If we’ve lost friends and family members this past year we feel their absence sorely. In this season even those of us who are rich in worldly goods may feel poor on some level. We truly need some good news right now!
Good news is exactly what we get from today’s Gospel. The thing is, it doesn’t look like good news at first. Think about Elizabeth and Mary for a moment. Talk about embarrassment and shame! Elizabeth is pregnant at an age far past the acceptable age for childbearing. Her earlier childlessness was a problem in her world, to be sure, but this latest development could be seen as strange or even ominous. After all, to everything there is a season, and Elizabeth’s season for childbearing should be long past. And what about Mary? What do you think the neighbors were saying about this poor, unmarried teenager who claimed that an angel told her that she would become pregnant by the Holy Spirit? And if that’s not enough, consider what will happen to Elizabeth’s and Mary’s unborn sons. John the Baptist will be beheaded by Herod, and Jesus will be crucified by the Romans. Does this sound like good news to you?
At this point we may want to pause a moment and reflect. God’s ways are not our ways, and God’s values may not be the same as ours. As we’ve seen time and time again, God works through people and in situations that may appear very unpromising to us. In fact, God does some of God’s best work with powerless people whose lives most of us would consider impossible.
As first century women in Palestine, Mary and Elizabeth were certainly powerless. In their culture women had very little standing. They weren’t just women, but they were poor women as well.
But God saw these women differently than their contemporaries did. Remember that God chose Moses to deliver the Ten Commandments despite Moses’ stutter. Remember that God chose David, a younger brother and a lowly shepherd, to be be God’s anointed. In the case of David, Samuel explains that “The Lord does not see as mortals see, they look on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart.” The world’s standards of excellence and prestige don’t matter to God. What matters is what God finds in our hearts.
Luke expects us to make the connection between Mary and God’s work with the lowly. Mary’s song—known as the Magnificat—echoes the song of Hannah in First Samuel. Luke wants us to know that this choice of a low-status person isn’t an isolated incident or a novelty. Luke wants to make sure we understand that this is the way that God works. God judges and selects people not by worldly criteria but by what Martin Luther King called the content of their character.
Our lesson from Hebrews reinforces this idea. God isn’t impressed by our outward and material actions and appearance but by our inward and spiritual condition manifested in obedience to God’s will. Hebrews tells us, “Sacrifices and burn offerings you have not desired, but a body you have prepared for me” and “See, I have come to do your will.” What God wants is an obedient and willing heart, not a big show. God isn’t interested in having us bow and scrape to prove our love for God. God would rather we incarnated God’s love for us and show forth God’s praise, as the Prayer Book says, “not only with our lips but in our lives.”
So God’s ways are not our ways, and if you look all over scripture you’ll find plenty of evidence. Isaiah announces God’s reversal of the so-called natural order of things by saying, “Every valley shall be lifted up, and every mountain and hill be made low.” Doesn’t that remind you of Mary’s words in today’s Gospel lesson? She says of God, “He has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly.”
Mary’s next words announce that “God has filled the hungry with good things and sent the rich away empty.” Where else in scripture have we heard words like these? We’ve heard them in the Beatitudes. Every one of the Beatitudes is a reversal of what we think is the usual order of things. We don’t think of the poor in spirit, or those who mourn, or the meek, or those who hunger and thirst for righteousness as blessed, yet Jesus says they are.
But Jesus in the Beatitudes and Luke in our reading today aren’t talking about how things are in their culture or in ours. They’re talking about who is blessed and who is valued in a community that looks forward to the coming of the kingdom. Here is real Gospel, good news about what the kingdom is like and good news about what and whom the kingdom values.
Jesus never said, blessed are the rich and powerful. God didn’t choose the daughter of the chief rabbi or the temple high priest to be the mother of Jesus. Instead, God chose Mary, a poor young girl from Nazareth. Jesus wasn’t born on a soft bed in a palace but on straw in a stable among the barnyard animals. The shepherds are the first to learn of Jesus’ birth in Luke’s Gospel. Remember, shepherds occupied the lowest rung of the social ladder.
Do you see the picture here? Jesus never said it was fun or lucky or enjoyable to be poor, but he said it was blessed. God is with the poor. I don’t know about you, but I’ve never run into Jesus at a country club or at the mall. I never even ran into him at Duke Divinity School. But I think I’ve met him in a soup kitchen a time or two, and I’m willing to believe he stays in the shelter from time to time.
God is with the poor, and poverty is only partly about money. There isn’t anyone among us who isn’t poor in some way. Many of us are poor in purse and many others of us are poor in health or poor in spirit. There is not a person on this planet who isn’t broken in some way or another. We all have our wounds, inside and out. This season, as we prepare to welcome God into our midst in the form of a homeless baby, let us welcome God into our brokenness so that it may be healed. Let us welcome God into our hearts and experience a transformation beyond any we could ever ask for or even imagine. Come Lord Jesus, heal us and save us. Amen.
+In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Here we are again. Even though it comes around every year, the Fourth Sunday of Advent always seems to sneak up on us. It’s a busy time. There’s such a lot to do and seemingly not enough time in which to do it. I’m feeling a sense of urgency, and I suspect you are too.
There’s certainly a sense of urgency among our neighbors over at Urban Ministries. What’s even more noticeable is the sense of unease that pervades the place. You can almost reach out and touch it. There are more bad moods and arguments in the soup kitchen line than there are at other times. Too many people show up on the food pantry days and we have to turn several away. Earlier in the year this news might not elicit a strong reaction, but now it may result in an angry outburst, pleading, or even tears. This year is particularly difficult given the high rate of unemployment.
Some folks at Urban Ministries have a sudden sense of focus that they didn’t have just a few weeks earlier. James (all the names are changed), who normally seems perpetually distracted, is all of a sudden focused on getting a bus ticket back home to visit his grown children. Annie, who’s normally a fairly laid-back woman, goes into high gear to assemble all the trimmings of Christmas for her children. Alvin, who normally just hangs out on the corner, is suddenly looking for a way to make a little cash. Between my minimal Spanish and Maria’s halting English I learn that she will leave no stone unturned to make sure she has an extra blanket for a visiting relative.
The time leading up to Christmas is stressful for most of us, but even more so for the poor and homeless. In a season that’s so often defined by buying, how hard it is for those with no money for gifts. In a season that glorifies the concept of being home for the holidays, how devastating it is to have no home at all. In a season that celebrates families getting together, how painful it is to have blood ties strained by poverty, addiction, or abuse. In a season known for feasting, how sad it is to have little to put on the table. Even attending a church service this time of year seems daunting for those without even a coin to drop in the collection plate. For the broken in purse and spirit, Christmas is anything but merry. It’s a season of embarrassment, even shame.
This season may be painful even for those who are more prosperous. The dark secret hidden underneath that pile of presents may be a huge credit card debt. Family gatherings may expose the estrangement that lies behind the hearty greetings and forced festiveness. Christmas may well be an emotional and logistical nightmare for those who must tread carefully in the minefield of split families and step-relations. The anxieties and addictions we’ve held in check the rest of the year may get the better of us now. If we’ve lost friends and family members this past year we feel their absence sorely. In this season even those of us who are rich in worldly goods may feel poor on some level. We truly need some good news right now!
Good news is exactly what we get from today’s Gospel. The thing is, it doesn’t look like good news at first. Think about Elizabeth and Mary for a moment. Talk about embarrassment and shame! Elizabeth is pregnant at an age far past the acceptable age for childbearing. Her earlier childlessness was a problem in her world, to be sure, but this latest development could be seen as strange or even ominous. After all, to everything there is a season, and Elizabeth’s season for childbearing should be long past. And what about Mary? What do you think the neighbors were saying about this poor, unmarried teenager who claimed that an angel told her that she would become pregnant by the Holy Spirit? And if that’s not enough, consider what will happen to Elizabeth’s and Mary’s unborn sons. John the Baptist will be beheaded by Herod, and Jesus will be crucified by the Romans. Does this sound like good news to you?
At this point we may want to pause a moment and reflect. God’s ways are not our ways, and God’s values may not be the same as ours. As we’ve seen time and time again, God works through people and in situations that may appear very unpromising to us. In fact, God does some of God’s best work with powerless people whose lives most of us would consider impossible.
As first century women in Palestine, Mary and Elizabeth were certainly powerless. In their culture women had very little standing. They weren’t just women, but they were poor women as well.
But God saw these women differently than their contemporaries did. Remember that God chose Moses to deliver the Ten Commandments despite Moses’ stutter. Remember that God chose David, a younger brother and a lowly shepherd, to be be God’s anointed. In the case of David, Samuel explains that “The Lord does not see as mortals see, they look on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart.” The world’s standards of excellence and prestige don’t matter to God. What matters is what God finds in our hearts.
Luke expects us to make the connection between Mary and God’s work with the lowly. Mary’s song—known as the Magnificat—echoes the song of Hannah in First Samuel. Luke wants us to know that this choice of a low-status person isn’t an isolated incident or a novelty. Luke wants to make sure we understand that this is the way that God works. God judges and selects people not by worldly criteria but by what Martin Luther King called the content of their character.
Our lesson from Hebrews reinforces this idea. God isn’t impressed by our outward and material actions and appearance but by our inward and spiritual condition manifested in obedience to God’s will. Hebrews tells us, “Sacrifices and burn offerings you have not desired, but a body you have prepared for me” and “See, I have come to do your will.” What God wants is an obedient and willing heart, not a big show. God isn’t interested in having us bow and scrape to prove our love for God. God would rather we incarnated God’s love for us and show forth God’s praise, as the Prayer Book says, “not only with our lips but in our lives.”
So God’s ways are not our ways, and if you look all over scripture you’ll find plenty of evidence. Isaiah announces God’s reversal of the so-called natural order of things by saying, “Every valley shall be lifted up, and every mountain and hill be made low.” Doesn’t that remind you of Mary’s words in today’s Gospel lesson? She says of God, “He has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly.”
Mary’s next words announce that “God has filled the hungry with good things and sent the rich away empty.” Where else in scripture have we heard words like these? We’ve heard them in the Beatitudes. Every one of the Beatitudes is a reversal of what we think is the usual order of things. We don’t think of the poor in spirit, or those who mourn, or the meek, or those who hunger and thirst for righteousness as blessed, yet Jesus says they are.
But Jesus in the Beatitudes and Luke in our reading today aren’t talking about how things are in their culture or in ours. They’re talking about who is blessed and who is valued in a community that looks forward to the coming of the kingdom. Here is real Gospel, good news about what the kingdom is like and good news about what and whom the kingdom values.
Jesus never said, blessed are the rich and powerful. God didn’t choose the daughter of the chief rabbi or the temple high priest to be the mother of Jesus. Instead, God chose Mary, a poor young girl from Nazareth. Jesus wasn’t born on a soft bed in a palace but on straw in a stable among the barnyard animals. The shepherds are the first to learn of Jesus’ birth in Luke’s Gospel. Remember, shepherds occupied the lowest rung of the social ladder.
Do you see the picture here? Jesus never said it was fun or lucky or enjoyable to be poor, but he said it was blessed. God is with the poor. I don’t know about you, but I’ve never run into Jesus at a country club or at the mall. I never even ran into him at Duke Divinity School. But I think I’ve met him in a soup kitchen a time or two, and I’m willing to believe he stays in the shelter from time to time.
God is with the poor, and poverty is only partly about money. There isn’t anyone among us who isn’t poor in some way. Many of us are poor in purse and many others of us are poor in health or poor in spirit. There is not a person on this planet who isn’t broken in some way or another. We all have our wounds, inside and out. This season, as we prepare to welcome God into our midst in the form of a homeless baby, let us welcome God into our brokenness so that it may be healed. Let us welcome God into our hearts and experience a transformation beyond any we could ever ask for or even imagine. Come Lord Jesus, heal us and save us. Amen.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Sunday, October 11, 2009
19th Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 23
Hebrews 4:12-16
+In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
It seems like surveillance cameras are everywhere these days. They’re at the bank, at the mall, and at the airport. There are even cameras at some intersections. The purpose is to catch people running red lights even if a policeman isn’t there to see them do it. These cameras are supposed to be for our protection, or so we’re told. They’re supposed to prevent crime, or at least identify the culprit and make punishment possible. The trouble is, these cameras don’t necessarily record only crime. They record our comings and goings when we are just minding our own business, committing no crimes at all. They might record us engaging in harmless but potentially embarrassing activities like fixing our underwear when it’s riding up or talking to ourselves. Anybody might eventually see us on film, from the temp agency security guard to the head of the FBI. Security cameras give me the creeps. Maybe they give you the creeps too.
You might well have the same reaction to the beginning of today’s lesson from Hebrews. God’s word seems to be the ultimate surveillance device. God’s word “is able to judge the thoughts and intentions of the heart.” Does this make you uneasy? It does me. All of a sudden the idea of being caught on film trying to deal discreetly with a lingerie issue or committing a traffic violation doesn’t seem all that bad. God doesn’t just see. God judges. And God doesn’t just see and judge what we do. God sees and judges what we think, maybe even before we think it! God knows just what we mean, good or bad. I didn’t curse aloud at the driver who cut me off on I-40 yesterday, but God knows I wished him grievous bodily harm. There’s no hiding from that God.
These verses from Hebrews tell us that God isn’t only able to see everything we do and know everything we think. They tell us that God is purposeful and energetic about doing it. The word of God is “living and active.” The word of God is “piercing.” The Collect for Purity begins, “Almighty God, to you all hearts are open, all desires known, and from you no secrets are hid.” All hearts. All desires. No secrets. No exceptions here. God is searching us out twenty-four/seven. Hebrews doesn’t mention that God rests on the seventh day from this activity. God knows if we’ve been bad or good, and what’s at stake here is far greater than what’s going to be in our stockings on Christmas morning. It’s downright terrifying, if you think about it.
But don’t be afraid. There’s more to this story. It would be really scary if the first verses of our lesson from Hebrews were the whole story. Sad to say though, lots of folks think this is the whole story. For a long time, religion has been used as a means of social control. The message can be twisted to suggest that God won’t reward those who don’t toe the line. It’s like telling kids there won’t be any visit from Santa if they don’t behave in the weeks leading up to Christmas. For adults the message is like this. Follow the rules and you’ll go to heaven. Break the rules and there will be hell to pay. If the police don’t get you in this life, God’s hammer of judgment will get you in the next. Don’t curse or steal or commit adultery because God is watching you. Don’t even think about doing these things, because God can see inside your head and inside your heart.
When people think God is no more than a big cosmic cop, they may or they may not behave themselves. What they are likely to do is to cut themselves off from God. Think about the parable of the talents from Matthew’s gospel. The master gave talents—money—to three slaves. The first two invested the money, but the third slave just buried it. He thought that his master would punish him if he didn’t return what he’d been given. The first two slaves made more money and were rewarded, but the third slave was punished. His master was angry not only that the slave made no additional money but that the slave believed the master would react badly. Because this slave assumed his master would treat him harshly, he lost even the little bit he had been given. This is what happens to us if we live our lives in fear of God’s judgment. Like the slave in the parable, we will cut ourselves off from God’s gifts if we are so afraid of God’s judgment that we fail to see God’s mercy.
Fortunately, that doesn’t have to happen. God’s purpose for us is not to catch us messing up. God is for us, not against us. Just listen to the words of the Nicene Creed: “For us and for our salvation, he came down from heaven.” God’s purpose for us is a saving purpose. God is the giver of all good gifts. God is about giving, not about taking away. God is like a loving parent who gives us the perfect present. It may not be the one we asked for, but once we’ve opened it we know it’s the very thing we most want and need.
Can you imagine a better gift than Jesus? Jesus is God’s ultimate gift to us. Jesus is incarnate proof that God is a loving parent rather than a tyrant. God’s word in Jesus, too, is living and active. Living and active, Jesus comes to save us. Our lesson from Hebrews tells us that in Jesus we have a great high priest. In temple Judaism, the high priest was the people’s intercessor with God. The high priest was the one who entered the holy of Holies on the Day of Atonement in the name of the people. Jesus approaches God on our behalf.
Our lesson from Hebrews today reassures us that Jesus the high priest not only intercedes for us, he intercedes as one of us. He has walked more than a mile in our shoes. He has lived in our very skin, not only in good times, but in the worst of times, through his death on the cross. We don’t have a high priest “who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who in every respect has been tested as we are, yet without sin.” If you remember reading in the book of Isaiah, “he was wounded for our transgressions, crushed for our iniquities; upon him was the punishment that made us whole, and by his bruises we are healed.” Does this sound to you like the son of a tyrannical God?
We’ll find more reassurance in next week’s gospel lesson, when we’ll read that “the Son of Man came not to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.” Our salvation is so important to God that God will hold back nothing, not even the life of God’s only son. “For us and for our salvation, he came down from heaven.” Hold onto those words. God can see into our hearts. God knows all the good and the bad in us, and still goes to enormous lengths to save us.
God has done so much for us. God continues to do so much for us. What then are we to do? First, you and I are to accept this love, believe in it, and trust it. Hebrews tells us that because we have a great high priest in Jesus we may “approach the throne of grace with boldness.” With boldness. Not in fear. Not like a child who’s been sent to the principal’s office. Since we have a great high priest in Jesus, we need not fear. We will not receive harshness, but mercy. We will find grace to help in time of need. There is no need to fear. Jesus has been sent “for us and for our salvation.”
So that said, let’s think again about God’s probing and all-seeing nature. Because Jesus is our great high priest, we’re not like Adam and Eve hiding in the garden because they were naked and ashamed. God’s purpose isn’t to shame us. God’s purpose is to save us. Since God knows us better than we know ourselves, God is able to do just that. Maybe we can come to know the same assurance as the person who wrote Psalm 139. He trusted God enough to write, “Search me out, O God, and know my heart.”
God looks into your heart and my heart all the time. God knows that what’s there isn’t always pretty. There’s at least as much sin and brokenness as there is love and wholeness. God could punish us. God could try to fix us. After all, that’s what we try to do with things that are broken. But God doesn’t do either of these things. Instead, God saves us. So when you think about God, forget about security cameras. Don’t confuse God with Santa Claus. It’s not about punishment. It’s not even about rewards. It’s about salvation, yours and mine. He came down from heaven for us and for our salvation. He was crucified under Pontius Pilate for our sake. As Saint Paul said, “If God is for us, who is against us?” Nothing can separate us from the love of God in Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
+In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
It seems like surveillance cameras are everywhere these days. They’re at the bank, at the mall, and at the airport. There are even cameras at some intersections. The purpose is to catch people running red lights even if a policeman isn’t there to see them do it. These cameras are supposed to be for our protection, or so we’re told. They’re supposed to prevent crime, or at least identify the culprit and make punishment possible. The trouble is, these cameras don’t necessarily record only crime. They record our comings and goings when we are just minding our own business, committing no crimes at all. They might record us engaging in harmless but potentially embarrassing activities like fixing our underwear when it’s riding up or talking to ourselves. Anybody might eventually see us on film, from the temp agency security guard to the head of the FBI. Security cameras give me the creeps. Maybe they give you the creeps too.
You might well have the same reaction to the beginning of today’s lesson from Hebrews. God’s word seems to be the ultimate surveillance device. God’s word “is able to judge the thoughts and intentions of the heart.” Does this make you uneasy? It does me. All of a sudden the idea of being caught on film trying to deal discreetly with a lingerie issue or committing a traffic violation doesn’t seem all that bad. God doesn’t just see. God judges. And God doesn’t just see and judge what we do. God sees and judges what we think, maybe even before we think it! God knows just what we mean, good or bad. I didn’t curse aloud at the driver who cut me off on I-40 yesterday, but God knows I wished him grievous bodily harm. There’s no hiding from that God.
These verses from Hebrews tell us that God isn’t only able to see everything we do and know everything we think. They tell us that God is purposeful and energetic about doing it. The word of God is “living and active.” The word of God is “piercing.” The Collect for Purity begins, “Almighty God, to you all hearts are open, all desires known, and from you no secrets are hid.” All hearts. All desires. No secrets. No exceptions here. God is searching us out twenty-four/seven. Hebrews doesn’t mention that God rests on the seventh day from this activity. God knows if we’ve been bad or good, and what’s at stake here is far greater than what’s going to be in our stockings on Christmas morning. It’s downright terrifying, if you think about it.
But don’t be afraid. There’s more to this story. It would be really scary if the first verses of our lesson from Hebrews were the whole story. Sad to say though, lots of folks think this is the whole story. For a long time, religion has been used as a means of social control. The message can be twisted to suggest that God won’t reward those who don’t toe the line. It’s like telling kids there won’t be any visit from Santa if they don’t behave in the weeks leading up to Christmas. For adults the message is like this. Follow the rules and you’ll go to heaven. Break the rules and there will be hell to pay. If the police don’t get you in this life, God’s hammer of judgment will get you in the next. Don’t curse or steal or commit adultery because God is watching you. Don’t even think about doing these things, because God can see inside your head and inside your heart.
When people think God is no more than a big cosmic cop, they may or they may not behave themselves. What they are likely to do is to cut themselves off from God. Think about the parable of the talents from Matthew’s gospel. The master gave talents—money—to three slaves. The first two invested the money, but the third slave just buried it. He thought that his master would punish him if he didn’t return what he’d been given. The first two slaves made more money and were rewarded, but the third slave was punished. His master was angry not only that the slave made no additional money but that the slave believed the master would react badly. Because this slave assumed his master would treat him harshly, he lost even the little bit he had been given. This is what happens to us if we live our lives in fear of God’s judgment. Like the slave in the parable, we will cut ourselves off from God’s gifts if we are so afraid of God’s judgment that we fail to see God’s mercy.
Fortunately, that doesn’t have to happen. God’s purpose for us is not to catch us messing up. God is for us, not against us. Just listen to the words of the Nicene Creed: “For us and for our salvation, he came down from heaven.” God’s purpose for us is a saving purpose. God is the giver of all good gifts. God is about giving, not about taking away. God is like a loving parent who gives us the perfect present. It may not be the one we asked for, but once we’ve opened it we know it’s the very thing we most want and need.
Can you imagine a better gift than Jesus? Jesus is God’s ultimate gift to us. Jesus is incarnate proof that God is a loving parent rather than a tyrant. God’s word in Jesus, too, is living and active. Living and active, Jesus comes to save us. Our lesson from Hebrews tells us that in Jesus we have a great high priest. In temple Judaism, the high priest was the people’s intercessor with God. The high priest was the one who entered the holy of Holies on the Day of Atonement in the name of the people. Jesus approaches God on our behalf.
Our lesson from Hebrews today reassures us that Jesus the high priest not only intercedes for us, he intercedes as one of us. He has walked more than a mile in our shoes. He has lived in our very skin, not only in good times, but in the worst of times, through his death on the cross. We don’t have a high priest “who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who in every respect has been tested as we are, yet without sin.” If you remember reading in the book of Isaiah, “he was wounded for our transgressions, crushed for our iniquities; upon him was the punishment that made us whole, and by his bruises we are healed.” Does this sound to you like the son of a tyrannical God?
We’ll find more reassurance in next week’s gospel lesson, when we’ll read that “the Son of Man came not to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.” Our salvation is so important to God that God will hold back nothing, not even the life of God’s only son. “For us and for our salvation, he came down from heaven.” Hold onto those words. God can see into our hearts. God knows all the good and the bad in us, and still goes to enormous lengths to save us.
God has done so much for us. God continues to do so much for us. What then are we to do? First, you and I are to accept this love, believe in it, and trust it. Hebrews tells us that because we have a great high priest in Jesus we may “approach the throne of grace with boldness.” With boldness. Not in fear. Not like a child who’s been sent to the principal’s office. Since we have a great high priest in Jesus, we need not fear. We will not receive harshness, but mercy. We will find grace to help in time of need. There is no need to fear. Jesus has been sent “for us and for our salvation.”
So that said, let’s think again about God’s probing and all-seeing nature. Because Jesus is our great high priest, we’re not like Adam and Eve hiding in the garden because they were naked and ashamed. God’s purpose isn’t to shame us. God’s purpose is to save us. Since God knows us better than we know ourselves, God is able to do just that. Maybe we can come to know the same assurance as the person who wrote Psalm 139. He trusted God enough to write, “Search me out, O God, and know my heart.”
God looks into your heart and my heart all the time. God knows that what’s there isn’t always pretty. There’s at least as much sin and brokenness as there is love and wholeness. God could punish us. God could try to fix us. After all, that’s what we try to do with things that are broken. But God doesn’t do either of these things. Instead, God saves us. So when you think about God, forget about security cameras. Don’t confuse God with Santa Claus. It’s not about punishment. It’s not even about rewards. It’s about salvation, yours and mine. He came down from heaven for us and for our salvation. He was crucified under Pontius Pilate for our sake. As Saint Paul said, “If God is for us, who is against us?” Nothing can separate us from the love of God in Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
Monday, September 14, 2009
15 Pentecost Year B
Mark 8:27-38
+In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Many years ago now my friend A. was a newly ordained priest. She was serving on the staff of a church in the New York City suburbs. On a particularly hot July Sunday morning, she was the designated celebrant at the Eucharist. The church hadn’t yet installed a central air conditioning system, and it felt even hotter in the church than it felt outside. She opted to put on her stole but not to wear the chasuble, the heavy poncho like vestment that the celebrant traditionally wears. The Prayer Book rubrics—look at them sometime if you’re interested—only stipulate that the stole must be worn. A. figured that everyone, including the other clergy who were serving with her that day, would understand. She was wrong. Right before the service began, the elderly rector emeritus asked her why she wasn’t wearing the chasuble. When A. said she was too hot, she was reprimanded with the words, “Don’t you know that it’s a good thing to suffer for Jesus? After all, he suffered for you.” The old priest didn’t speak these words with a smile on his face; he was entirely serious. In his mind, enduring physical discomfort was an appropriate, even desirable way of following in Jesus’ footsteps.
History provides a more vivid and far more extreme example of the idea that it’s desirable to suffer for Jesus. In the Middle Ages, groups of men known as Flagellants gathered and marched in procession, beating themselves and each other with leather whips with iron spikes attached. The motivation behind this apparent madness was that this self-inflicted punishment would atone for the sins that caused the deadly outbreaks of bubonic plague. They thought that by inflicting pain on themselves they were sacrificing themselves for the world’s sins. They thought they were imitating Jesus. Unfortunately, their violence extended beyond the harm they inflicted on their own bodies. According to historians, the Flagellants were known to harm clergy who objected to their practices. They were also reported to have killed Jews they encountered. The pope condemned their activities in the mid fourteenth century, but similar behavior in times of plague persisted for at least another hundred years.
While we can be more than reasonably certain that Jesus wouldn’t have approved of the practices of the Flagellants, Jesus would hardly have us shy away from suffering. On the contrary. He tells his disciples and the crowd around them, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.” As we all know, Jesus suffers plenty on the way to the cross and on the cross itself. But are we to understand that our suffering is a good thing? Are we to understand that Jesus actually wants us to suffer? I can’t be so sure about that.
A reasonable reading of Mark’s gospel and of the other gospels demonstrates that Jesus devotes considerable time and energy to alleviate or even eliminate the suffering of others. In last week’s gospel lesson, Jesus first cast the demon out of the Syrophoenician woman’s daughter, although as you may remember, he didn’t do it without a little persuasion. Then he cured a man of his deafness and his inability to speak. In the same chapter that contains today’s lesson, Jesus cures a blind man at Bethsaida. In the next chapter, Jesus heals a boy with a spirit. Even the prohibition against doing work on the Sabbath didn’t keep Jesus from healing a man’s withered hand. For Jesus the remedy of the man’s disability was more important than observing the letter of the law. For Jesus alleviating suffering took precedence over following the dictates of religious tradition. The healings and exorcisms that I’ve just mentioned are just a few of the many that Jesus performs throughout the gospels.
Jesus isn’t just interested in easing the suffering caused by physical illness. Many, many times he aids people who suffered from possession by demons or spirits. Today we might refer to demon possession as mental illness or addiction. Jesus has great concern for the poor and for those who are social outcasts. Poverty causes physical suffering every bit as real as that caused by illness or injury; the poor don’t get enough to eat, often don’t have adequate shelter, and frequently have little access to medical care. Poverty and exclusion from society cause spiritual suffering too, which Jesus also seeks to remedy. Jesus feeds hungry people and takes away the discomfort of their empty stomachs. He eats with sinners and tax collectors who are shunned by so-called respectable society and the local religious establishment. Jesus doesn’t shy away from associating with the untouchables of his world. He seeks to remedy the pain of exclusion by drawing them into his circle of association.
We might want to consider all of Jesus’ healings and his compassion for the poor and the outcast in the light of his question to the disciples, “Who do you say that I am?” Peter answers this question quite correctly by replying, “You are the Messiah.” In practical terms, though, what does this answer mean for Jesus’ followers? What kind of Messiah is Jesus? What will the kingdom that Jesus will bring as the Messiah look like? What difference does it make? What difference does it make to the disciples, and what difference does it make to us what kind of Messiah we are following?
All of the healing miracles that Jesus performs suggest that the kingdom he proclaims is a kingdom where shalom will prevail. Shalom means “peace” in Hebrew, but it means more than simply peace. Shalom also means health and wholeness. Shalom in the kingdom of God means that people won’t have to deal with the pain of hunger. Shalom in the kingdom of God means that people will no longer be afflicted by physical ailments, deformities, and limitations. People will no longer be possessed by demons. In the kingdom of God shalom means that relations between people are conducted in such a manner that there is no such thing as a marginalized person; all are welcome and included.
If the disciples of Jesus—and the disciples are us as well as the original twelve—seek to follow Jesus the healer, what does it mean in terms of how we conduct our lives and our relations with our neighbor? How is this type of discipleship different from discipleship that emphasizes the suffering of Jesus? Which kind of discipleship is likely to lead to a state of shalom?
There’s a real danger in investing too much in the idea that Jesus suffers. He asks us to take up our cross, true. But there’s a very real danger that we might come to see suffering as a good thing. If we see our own suffering or the suffering of others as any kind of a good thing, we’re less likely to intervene to prevent or stop suffering when we see it. If we think the struggles of others for food, adequate housing, decent health care, or inclusion in society are redemptive, or even just character-building, we’re less likely to provide any aid. Remember the practices of the Flagellants, who I mentioned earlier. Their self-inflicted pain didn’t lead them to treat others with kindness and compassion. Instead, they tended to deal violently with civil and religious authorities who opposed them.
So, as we’ll sing in the Offertory Hymn in a little while, “Take up your cross, the savior said.” Follow Jesus. Follow him as a feeder. Follow him as a healer. Follow him as a gatherer of souls. Don’t be afraid to suffer if that suffering is necessary. But please don’t think that’s what Jesus wants for you and me. It seems to me that while he would have us carry his cross, he has no wish for us to hang on it too. Jesus hung on that cross so that you and I wouldn’t have to. Amen.
+In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Many years ago now my friend A. was a newly ordained priest. She was serving on the staff of a church in the New York City suburbs. On a particularly hot July Sunday morning, she was the designated celebrant at the Eucharist. The church hadn’t yet installed a central air conditioning system, and it felt even hotter in the church than it felt outside. She opted to put on her stole but not to wear the chasuble, the heavy poncho like vestment that the celebrant traditionally wears. The Prayer Book rubrics—look at them sometime if you’re interested—only stipulate that the stole must be worn. A. figured that everyone, including the other clergy who were serving with her that day, would understand. She was wrong. Right before the service began, the elderly rector emeritus asked her why she wasn’t wearing the chasuble. When A. said she was too hot, she was reprimanded with the words, “Don’t you know that it’s a good thing to suffer for Jesus? After all, he suffered for you.” The old priest didn’t speak these words with a smile on his face; he was entirely serious. In his mind, enduring physical discomfort was an appropriate, even desirable way of following in Jesus’ footsteps.
History provides a more vivid and far more extreme example of the idea that it’s desirable to suffer for Jesus. In the Middle Ages, groups of men known as Flagellants gathered and marched in procession, beating themselves and each other with leather whips with iron spikes attached. The motivation behind this apparent madness was that this self-inflicted punishment would atone for the sins that caused the deadly outbreaks of bubonic plague. They thought that by inflicting pain on themselves they were sacrificing themselves for the world’s sins. They thought they were imitating Jesus. Unfortunately, their violence extended beyond the harm they inflicted on their own bodies. According to historians, the Flagellants were known to harm clergy who objected to their practices. They were also reported to have killed Jews they encountered. The pope condemned their activities in the mid fourteenth century, but similar behavior in times of plague persisted for at least another hundred years.
While we can be more than reasonably certain that Jesus wouldn’t have approved of the practices of the Flagellants, Jesus would hardly have us shy away from suffering. On the contrary. He tells his disciples and the crowd around them, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.” As we all know, Jesus suffers plenty on the way to the cross and on the cross itself. But are we to understand that our suffering is a good thing? Are we to understand that Jesus actually wants us to suffer? I can’t be so sure about that.
A reasonable reading of Mark’s gospel and of the other gospels demonstrates that Jesus devotes considerable time and energy to alleviate or even eliminate the suffering of others. In last week’s gospel lesson, Jesus first cast the demon out of the Syrophoenician woman’s daughter, although as you may remember, he didn’t do it without a little persuasion. Then he cured a man of his deafness and his inability to speak. In the same chapter that contains today’s lesson, Jesus cures a blind man at Bethsaida. In the next chapter, Jesus heals a boy with a spirit. Even the prohibition against doing work on the Sabbath didn’t keep Jesus from healing a man’s withered hand. For Jesus the remedy of the man’s disability was more important than observing the letter of the law. For Jesus alleviating suffering took precedence over following the dictates of religious tradition. The healings and exorcisms that I’ve just mentioned are just a few of the many that Jesus performs throughout the gospels.
Jesus isn’t just interested in easing the suffering caused by physical illness. Many, many times he aids people who suffered from possession by demons or spirits. Today we might refer to demon possession as mental illness or addiction. Jesus has great concern for the poor and for those who are social outcasts. Poverty causes physical suffering every bit as real as that caused by illness or injury; the poor don’t get enough to eat, often don’t have adequate shelter, and frequently have little access to medical care. Poverty and exclusion from society cause spiritual suffering too, which Jesus also seeks to remedy. Jesus feeds hungry people and takes away the discomfort of their empty stomachs. He eats with sinners and tax collectors who are shunned by so-called respectable society and the local religious establishment. Jesus doesn’t shy away from associating with the untouchables of his world. He seeks to remedy the pain of exclusion by drawing them into his circle of association.
We might want to consider all of Jesus’ healings and his compassion for the poor and the outcast in the light of his question to the disciples, “Who do you say that I am?” Peter answers this question quite correctly by replying, “You are the Messiah.” In practical terms, though, what does this answer mean for Jesus’ followers? What kind of Messiah is Jesus? What will the kingdom that Jesus will bring as the Messiah look like? What difference does it make? What difference does it make to the disciples, and what difference does it make to us what kind of Messiah we are following?
All of the healing miracles that Jesus performs suggest that the kingdom he proclaims is a kingdom where shalom will prevail. Shalom means “peace” in Hebrew, but it means more than simply peace. Shalom also means health and wholeness. Shalom in the kingdom of God means that people won’t have to deal with the pain of hunger. Shalom in the kingdom of God means that people will no longer be afflicted by physical ailments, deformities, and limitations. People will no longer be possessed by demons. In the kingdom of God shalom means that relations between people are conducted in such a manner that there is no such thing as a marginalized person; all are welcome and included.
If the disciples of Jesus—and the disciples are us as well as the original twelve—seek to follow Jesus the healer, what does it mean in terms of how we conduct our lives and our relations with our neighbor? How is this type of discipleship different from discipleship that emphasizes the suffering of Jesus? Which kind of discipleship is likely to lead to a state of shalom?
There’s a real danger in investing too much in the idea that Jesus suffers. He asks us to take up our cross, true. But there’s a very real danger that we might come to see suffering as a good thing. If we see our own suffering or the suffering of others as any kind of a good thing, we’re less likely to intervene to prevent or stop suffering when we see it. If we think the struggles of others for food, adequate housing, decent health care, or inclusion in society are redemptive, or even just character-building, we’re less likely to provide any aid. Remember the practices of the Flagellants, who I mentioned earlier. Their self-inflicted pain didn’t lead them to treat others with kindness and compassion. Instead, they tended to deal violently with civil and religious authorities who opposed them.
So, as we’ll sing in the Offertory Hymn in a little while, “Take up your cross, the savior said.” Follow Jesus. Follow him as a feeder. Follow him as a healer. Follow him as a gatherer of souls. Don’t be afraid to suffer if that suffering is necessary. But please don’t think that’s what Jesus wants for you and me. It seems to me that while he would have us carry his cross, he has no wish for us to hang on it too. Jesus hung on that cross so that you and I wouldn’t have to. Amen.
Friday, September 11, 2009
Monday, September 7, 2009
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