Jun 28, 2020 |
Proper 8, Year A
| Stephen Shaver
Proper 8, Year A
View PDF -
"How do you tell a true prophet from a false prophet?"
Jeremiah 28:5-9
Psalm 89:1-4,15-18
Romans 6:12-23
Matthew 10:40-42
"How do you tell a true prophet from a false prophet?"
Jeremiah 28:5-9
Psalm 89:1-4,15-18
Romans 6:12-23
Matthew 10:40-42
Jun 21, 2020 |
Proper 7, Year A
| Stephen Shaver
Proper 7, Year A
View PDF -
"It's a highly unstable solution. All it takes is a single grain of salt dropped in--and what was hidden is revealed."
Jeremiah 20:7-13
Psalm 69: 8-11, (12-17), 18-20
Romans 6:1b-11
Matthew 10:24-39
image credit: Ivee
"It's a highly unstable solution. All it takes is a single grain of salt dropped in--and what was hidden is revealed."
Jeremiah 20:7-13
Psalm 69: 8-11, (12-17), 18-20
Romans 6:1b-11
Matthew 10:24-39
image credit: Ivee
Jun 14, 2020 |
Proper 6, Year A
| Pamela Moore
Proper 6, Year A
View PDF -
"Our world is sickened by the diseases of superiority and power. Jesus is calling in the healers."
Exodus 19:2-8a
Psalm 100
Romans 5:1-8
Matthew 9:35-10:8(9-23)
"Our world is sickened by the diseases of superiority and power. Jesus is calling in the healers."
Exodus 19:2-8a
Psalm 100
Romans 5:1-8
Matthew 9:35-10:8(9-23)
Jun 07, 2020 |
Trinity Sunday, Year A
| Stephen Shaver
Trinity Sunday, Year A
View PDF -
"The Trinity isn't about abstract speculation. It's as real as a bruised body, as real as friendship, as real as grief."
Genesis 1:1-2:4a
2 Corinthians 13:11-13
Matthew 28:16-20
Psalm 8
"The Trinity isn't about abstract speculation. It's as real as a bruised body, as real as friendship, as real as grief."
Genesis 1:1-2:4a
2 Corinthians 13:11-13
Matthew 28:16-20
Psalm 8
Apr 11, 2020 |
The Great Vigil of Easter - Year A, Revised Common Lectionary
| Jamie Knutsen
The Great Vigil of Easter - Year A, Revised Common Lectionary
View PDF - Genesis 1:1-2:4a [The Story of Creation]
Genesis 7:1-5, 11-18, 8:6-18, 9:8-13 [The Flood]
Genesis 22:1-18 [Abraham's sacrifice of Isaac]
Exodus 14:10-31; 15:20-21 [Israel's deliverance at the Red Sea]
Isaiah 55:1-11 [Salvation offered freely to all]
Baruch 3:9-15, 3:32-4:4 Baruch 3:9-15, 3:32-4:4 or Proverbs 8:1-8, 19-21; 9:4b-6 [Learn wisdom and live]Proverbs 8:1-8, 19-21; 9:4b-6 [Learn wisdom and live]
Ezekiel 36:24-28 [A new heart and a new spirit]
Ezekiel 37:1-14 [The valley of dry bones]
Zephaniah 3:14-20 [The gathering of God's people]
Genesis 7:1-5, 11-18, 8:6-18, 9:8-13 [The Flood]
Genesis 22:1-18 [Abraham's sacrifice of Isaac]
Exodus 14:10-31; 15:20-21 [Israel's deliverance at the Red Sea]
Isaiah 55:1-11 [Salvation offered freely to all]
Baruch 3:9-15, 3:32-4:4 Baruch 3:9-15, 3:32-4:4 or Proverbs 8:1-8, 19-21; 9:4b-6 [Learn wisdom and live]Proverbs 8:1-8, 19-21; 9:4b-6 [Learn wisdom and live]
Ezekiel 36:24-28 [A new heart and a new spirit]
Ezekiel 37:1-14 [The valley of dry bones]
Zephaniah 3:14-20 [The gathering of God's people]
Jan 26, 2020 |
Third Sunday After Epiphany, Year A, Revised Common Lectionary
| Pamela Moore
Third Sunday After Epiphany, Year A, Revised Common Lectionary
Isaiah 9:1-4
1 Corinthians 1:10-18
Matthew 4:12-23
Psalm 27:1, 5-13
+ + +
“The Lord is my light and my salvation, whom then shall I fear?”
Indeed, whom shall I fear? Whom do I fear? Whom or what do you fear? The Bible is filled with talk about fear, mostly with admonitions to fear not! Remember the angel Gabriel to Mary, “Fear not, the Lord is with you.” Angels are very much into “Fear not!”
But of course, if truth be told we do fear. I read recently that 40% of Americans suffer from anxiety—ranging from panic attacks to other forms of anxious living. Look around this church and think about that. 40% of us are living with anxiety.
Who or what do we fear? Some of us in Sonoma County fear the next fire season, or the next flooding of the Russian River. What stresses will come our way, what losses? We may be afraid for our health—that the cancer will come back– or perhaps we fear for the health of our spouse or child or friend. Sometimes I fall into climate change fear—for us right here, for the vulnerable in so many places, for our children and grand-children. What will they have to face? More pressing perhaps, we’re afraid we can’t make the next rent payment, or that the car will break down and cost too much to repair. Some of us have already lost our homes, and our fears are of the real vulnerability of life on the streets.
Maybe we’re afraid to feel our fears, to acknowledge them… or our grief… our grief about the way things are today, the extremes of wealth and poverty, racism, the fires and floods, the hurting earth, our seeming unwillingness to do anything about it. We fear for the earth and its creatures. Ourselves among them.
I don’t know how it is for you, but fear constricts me. When I get into those fearful obsessive thought patterns… they take over. I make bad decisions when fear decides for me. (I’m not talking here about dodging the oncoming truck kind of decisions). Maybe this is true for you as well. Fearful decisions for me generally are small, tight, closed. I try to shield my heart. And, in fact there are times when I’m afraid to feel my fear. Then, the results are more scary. Then I lash out at others, there is a kind of blaming, and I see myself as a victim.
Isaiah the prophet is speaking to a people who have lived in very dark times. They’ve known oppression, and subjection and utter vulnerability. Zebulon and Naphtali have been taken into captivity. Their sense of security and safety has long been stripped from them. (This might be like 9/11 coupled with captivity and exile of all the survivors maybe. Something like that.) Isaiah speaks to them with metaphors beyond their wildest imagination. That’s often what prophets do. He tells them that God actually has the power, not Assyria, not any earthly king or would-be king, God. If they turn to God they’ll see what Isaiah sees: the great light dawning, the path now clear. He proclaims Joy in the present tense. This is happening now folks.
Really it seems too much. When I’m feeling afraid and insecure, and worried, it’s hard to see anything but darkness. Just think of how you feel after you read the daily news. It’s hard to entrust yourself to God’s power when you see yourself as trapped in the machinations of the earthly powers that be. It’s hard.
The psalmist began his song with his rootedness in God’s light and his lack of fear; he affirms that what he wants is just what Isaiah called for: he turns to God, no matter what. There are problems and enemies, and tough times—perhaps like our own. Nonetheless, he says: “You speak in my heart and say, “Seek my face. Your face, Lord, will I seek.” Another translation puts it this way, “’Come,’ my heart says, ‘seek God’s face.’ Your face Lord do I seek.”
And really that’s what it comes down to. What we all long for. The face of God. That intimate knowledge of God’s presence. God’s withness in this mess we find ourselves in. Can we take Isaiah at his word? If we seek God’s face, will we be bathed in a light that will show us a path? Will we? How do we do that? We come here on a Sunday morning. Maybe we gather during the week too, seeking that face.
Maybe we meditate, or study scripture, or look for that face in our dreams, or in nature, at the beach or on the mountaintop.
One cosmologist gazing at the ripples of light that gave birth to the universe said that was like looking in the face of God. And, we do catch a glimpse in those moments when we stand before the unspeakably beautiful.
Hebrew Scriptures tell us that seeing God face to face is too much. Too much for us to bear. Too intense, too overwhelming. Too much beauty, love and truth to bear. I’ve thought that maybe the burning bush was a humble way for God to be present to Moses so that he could take notice and not be eradicated.
For us who follow his path, Jesus is the face of God in a form that we can see. That is just barely not too much. And in today’s Gospel Jesus has made his home in Capernaum—the territory of Zebulon and Naphtali, no less. That little nowhere place, no longer under the thumb of the Assyrians, but now it’s the Romans. He is there says Matthew to fulfill the vision of Isaiah—that’s a Christian interpretation of the Hebrew text. Jesus was a Jew. He’d know those words. “for those who sat in the region and shadow of death light has dawned.” Not will dawn. Has dawned.
The face of God come among us. “Repent,” the face says. “Repent.” Repentance is not so much about saying “I’m sorry” as it’s about doing an about face, or a somersault. “Change your mindset” “See differently” Let go. Our old ways of understanding the times, the darkness, the oppressiveness of the powers, our own sense of powerlessness… those have got to go. Not that these times aren’t dark, they definitely are. But in these very times, to perceive the face of God, we’ll need to entrust ourselves to a new way of seeing. We need to let go of letting fear make our decisions. The reign of God has come near, Jesus says, open your eyes. Open your hearts. Unclench your fists.
This is the season of the Epiphany when we celebrate Jesus as the face of God in the world. The light shining not just over the stable in Bethlehem, but out into the world—into the Zebulons and Naphtalis—the Santa Rosas and Sebastopols as well as the towns in Syria, whose names we do not know, or in Libya or Indonesia. Whatever this face is telling us, it is telling us that the face of God is to be found in this material world of ours, just as it is. “The gate to heaven is everywhere,” as Merton says. The divine is here in our midst, in the most unlikely, the hardest, and least of these places and people –and even in animals and trees and the earth itself. And, in the universe itself: we now know that we’re all made of the same stardust. That’s a fact. And Jesus is good news that God didn’t just breathe into the dust, God is both in and beyond this dust. Where we in our fear see only division, difference, and danger, creation oozes seamlessness, connection, and energy for new life. When we open ourselves to those, we see the divine.
This is the Church of the Incarnation. Right? This is a season for us to plumb the meanings of God-in-the-flesh. To do that we need to repent, change the lenses—(maybe we all need a kind of divine cataract surgery.) In any case, we’ll have to let go. And it’s hard to let go of anything we haven’t acknowledged. So one way to start is with our fears: first honestly feel our fears (maybe even for just a few minutes), perhaps dare to share them, –then we can begin to loosen their grip, and open our eyes to the presence of the light within ourselves and around us, and in this amazing universe we are privileged to be a part of. Yes, it’s dark and scary. Yes, you and I are not in charge. But the face of God has come among us and is among us. Inviting us to trust bit by bit that that very divine energy is at work inviting us to new life.
“Your face, Lord, do I seek.” Say that with me please. “Your face, Lord, do I seek.” Let that be our mantra for the season. Let’s see where it takes us.
1 Corinthians 1:10-18
Matthew 4:12-23
Psalm 27:1, 5-13
+ + +
“The Lord is my light and my salvation, whom then shall I fear?”
Indeed, whom shall I fear? Whom do I fear? Whom or what do you fear? The Bible is filled with talk about fear, mostly with admonitions to fear not! Remember the angel Gabriel to Mary, “Fear not, the Lord is with you.” Angels are very much into “Fear not!”
But of course, if truth be told we do fear. I read recently that 40% of Americans suffer from anxiety—ranging from panic attacks to other forms of anxious living. Look around this church and think about that. 40% of us are living with anxiety.
Who or what do we fear? Some of us in Sonoma County fear the next fire season, or the next flooding of the Russian River. What stresses will come our way, what losses? We may be afraid for our health—that the cancer will come back– or perhaps we fear for the health of our spouse or child or friend. Sometimes I fall into climate change fear—for us right here, for the vulnerable in so many places, for our children and grand-children. What will they have to face? More pressing perhaps, we’re afraid we can’t make the next rent payment, or that the car will break down and cost too much to repair. Some of us have already lost our homes, and our fears are of the real vulnerability of life on the streets.
Maybe we’re afraid to feel our fears, to acknowledge them… or our grief… our grief about the way things are today, the extremes of wealth and poverty, racism, the fires and floods, the hurting earth, our seeming unwillingness to do anything about it. We fear for the earth and its creatures. Ourselves among them.
I don’t know how it is for you, but fear constricts me. When I get into those fearful obsessive thought patterns… they take over. I make bad decisions when fear decides for me. (I’m not talking here about dodging the oncoming truck kind of decisions). Maybe this is true for you as well. Fearful decisions for me generally are small, tight, closed. I try to shield my heart. And, in fact there are times when I’m afraid to feel my fear. Then, the results are more scary. Then I lash out at others, there is a kind of blaming, and I see myself as a victim.
Isaiah the prophet is speaking to a people who have lived in very dark times. They’ve known oppression, and subjection and utter vulnerability. Zebulon and Naphtali have been taken into captivity. Their sense of security and safety has long been stripped from them. (This might be like 9/11 coupled with captivity and exile of all the survivors maybe. Something like that.) Isaiah speaks to them with metaphors beyond their wildest imagination. That’s often what prophets do. He tells them that God actually has the power, not Assyria, not any earthly king or would-be king, God. If they turn to God they’ll see what Isaiah sees: the great light dawning, the path now clear. He proclaims Joy in the present tense. This is happening now folks.
Really it seems too much. When I’m feeling afraid and insecure, and worried, it’s hard to see anything but darkness. Just think of how you feel after you read the daily news. It’s hard to entrust yourself to God’s power when you see yourself as trapped in the machinations of the earthly powers that be. It’s hard.
The psalmist began his song with his rootedness in God’s light and his lack of fear; he affirms that what he wants is just what Isaiah called for: he turns to God, no matter what. There are problems and enemies, and tough times—perhaps like our own. Nonetheless, he says: “You speak in my heart and say, “Seek my face. Your face, Lord, will I seek.” Another translation puts it this way, “’Come,’ my heart says, ‘seek God’s face.’ Your face Lord do I seek.”
And really that’s what it comes down to. What we all long for. The face of God. That intimate knowledge of God’s presence. God’s withness in this mess we find ourselves in. Can we take Isaiah at his word? If we seek God’s face, will we be bathed in a light that will show us a path? Will we? How do we do that? We come here on a Sunday morning. Maybe we gather during the week too, seeking that face.
Maybe we meditate, or study scripture, or look for that face in our dreams, or in nature, at the beach or on the mountaintop.
One cosmologist gazing at the ripples of light that gave birth to the universe said that was like looking in the face of God. And, we do catch a glimpse in those moments when we stand before the unspeakably beautiful.
Hebrew Scriptures tell us that seeing God face to face is too much. Too much for us to bear. Too intense, too overwhelming. Too much beauty, love and truth to bear. I’ve thought that maybe the burning bush was a humble way for God to be present to Moses so that he could take notice and not be eradicated.
For us who follow his path, Jesus is the face of God in a form that we can see. That is just barely not too much. And in today’s Gospel Jesus has made his home in Capernaum—the territory of Zebulon and Naphtali, no less. That little nowhere place, no longer under the thumb of the Assyrians, but now it’s the Romans. He is there says Matthew to fulfill the vision of Isaiah—that’s a Christian interpretation of the Hebrew text. Jesus was a Jew. He’d know those words. “for those who sat in the region and shadow of death light has dawned.” Not will dawn. Has dawned.
The face of God come among us. “Repent,” the face says. “Repent.” Repentance is not so much about saying “I’m sorry” as it’s about doing an about face, or a somersault. “Change your mindset” “See differently” Let go. Our old ways of understanding the times, the darkness, the oppressiveness of the powers, our own sense of powerlessness… those have got to go. Not that these times aren’t dark, they definitely are. But in these very times, to perceive the face of God, we’ll need to entrust ourselves to a new way of seeing. We need to let go of letting fear make our decisions. The reign of God has come near, Jesus says, open your eyes. Open your hearts. Unclench your fists.
This is the season of the Epiphany when we celebrate Jesus as the face of God in the world. The light shining not just over the stable in Bethlehem, but out into the world—into the Zebulons and Naphtalis—the Santa Rosas and Sebastopols as well as the towns in Syria, whose names we do not know, or in Libya or Indonesia. Whatever this face is telling us, it is telling us that the face of God is to be found in this material world of ours, just as it is. “The gate to heaven is everywhere,” as Merton says. The divine is here in our midst, in the most unlikely, the hardest, and least of these places and people –and even in animals and trees and the earth itself. And, in the universe itself: we now know that we’re all made of the same stardust. That’s a fact. And Jesus is good news that God didn’t just breathe into the dust, God is both in and beyond this dust. Where we in our fear see only division, difference, and danger, creation oozes seamlessness, connection, and energy for new life. When we open ourselves to those, we see the divine.
This is the Church of the Incarnation. Right? This is a season for us to plumb the meanings of God-in-the-flesh. To do that we need to repent, change the lenses—(maybe we all need a kind of divine cataract surgery.) In any case, we’ll have to let go. And it’s hard to let go of anything we haven’t acknowledged. So one way to start is with our fears: first honestly feel our fears (maybe even for just a few minutes), perhaps dare to share them, –then we can begin to loosen their grip, and open our eyes to the presence of the light within ourselves and around us, and in this amazing universe we are privileged to be a part of. Yes, it’s dark and scary. Yes, you and I are not in charge. But the face of God has come among us and is among us. Inviting us to trust bit by bit that that very divine energy is at work inviting us to new life.
“Your face, Lord, do I seek.” Say that with me please. “Your face, Lord, do I seek.” Let that be our mantra for the season. Let’s see where it takes us.
Jan 12, 2020 |
First Sunday After Epiphany, Year A, Revised Common Lectionary
| Pamela Moore
First Sunday After Epiphany, Year A, Revised Common Lectionary
Isaiah 42:1-9
Acts 10:34-43
Matthew 3:13-17
Psalm 29 + + +
Baptism
Somewhere in my house, there is a button I got a few years ago that says, “Jesus loves you, but I’m his favorite.” I thought of that button when I read today’s Gospel lesson. As a young girl, I longed to be unique, to be noticed for who I was, and to know that I had God’s blessing. Whenever I heard the account of the Baptism of Our Lord, I could not help but wonder what it would be like for a ray of light to come from the heavens and for a voice to say, “This is my child, the beloved, in whom I am well pleased.” What would it take, I thought, to be the kind of person that God would think was an exceptional being?
It saddens me to think that for so many years, I felt that one had to be exceptional to be loved by God. My child’s view of the world was that only if one was kind, obedient, and followed all the rules, would they would be worthy of God’s love. Of course, now I know that God’s love is a gift freely given to us and that we are all worthy of that love just because we are who we are.
At the same time, it does not seem to me that we can do anything we want, any way we want, and still assume that our relationship with God is perfect as is. If that were the case, we would not have needed Jesus to show us how to fully live into our human identity and our spiritual communion with God.
For many of us, Baptism is the beginning of a lifelong commitment to seeking an understanding of what it means to be a child of God. It is a relationship that begins with a set of promises, sometimes made on our behalf when we are babe or children, and later on when we, as adults, renew those promises within our faith community. The Book of Common Prayer tells us that “Holy Baptism is full initiation by water and the Holy Spirit into Christ’s body, the church.” And that the bond which God establishes in Baptism is “indissoluble.” With Baptism we become Christ’s own forever, and that relationship can never be broken.
Holy Baptism is the process by which our parents, godparents, or we commit to Christ and to live the Christian faith. We promise to pray, continue in the teachings of the Apostles, to participate in fellowship, to resist evil, and when we do sin, repent, and return to God. We promise to share the Good News of God in Christ and to serve one another with love. We promise to work for justice and peace and to respect the dignity of other human beings. We ask for God’s help to live into this covenant because we know we cannot depend on our will power to keep faith with our Creator. We look to Jesus to show us how to go forth and do what we promise God we will do.
It is easy to understand why John was surprised when Jesus came to him to be baptized. Remember that John recognized Jesus as the anointed one when they worth both still in their mothers’ wombs. John’s ministry was to prepare the people to return to God through a ritual immersion designed to wash away sin and to purify the body. So, you can see why John wondered why Jesus, the one born without sin, would ask to be baptized? Although he was still probably unsure about who should baptize whom, John chose to trust that Jesus would know the right thing to do. Scripture tells us that this was the right thing to do because God affirms this decision by saying, “This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.”
Like John, we may not initially understand or even agree on how things should be done. However, can trust that Jesus always knows what is right. When we choose to follow Jesus, to model our lives after his, to trust in him for guidance and strength, we affirm our belief that Jesus is our savior. Jesus will show us how to be in a relationship with God from the time we are vulnerable babies until the day we are called home to be with God forever. We can go forth in the world to heal and do good. We can go forth into the world to seek justice and peace. We can go forth into the world, knowing that God equips us with gifts of grace that come from living in communion with God’s beloved. The bond between God and us cannot be broken because God is with us. Our Emmanuel, God and human, shows us the way to live rightly and to keep the covenant we have made.
We make our promises to God, knowing that we will need God’s help to keep them. Human nature is such that we are subject to going astray, forgetting our purpose, and sometimes we are just plain lost. Prayer can be helpful, and there is a prayer that comes from the Forward Day by Day called For Today that helps me to focus on God’s will and not mine. I share it with you now in the hope that you will also find it to be useful.
“O God: Give me strength to live another day. Let me not turn coward before its difficulties or prove recreant to its duties. Let me not lose faith in other people. Keep me sweet and sound of heart, in spite of ingratitude, treachery or meanness. Preserve me from minding little stings or giving them. Help me to keep my heart clean and to live so honestly and fearlessly that no outward failure can dishearten me or take away the joy of conscious integrity. Open wide the eyes of my soul that I may see good in all things. Grant me this day some new vision of thy truth. Inspire me with the spirit of joy and gladness and make me the cup of strength to suffering souls. In the name of the strong deliverer, or only Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Amen.”
Acts 10:34-43
Matthew 3:13-17
Psalm 29 + + +
Baptism
Somewhere in my house, there is a button I got a few years ago that says, “Jesus loves you, but I’m his favorite.” I thought of that button when I read today’s Gospel lesson. As a young girl, I longed to be unique, to be noticed for who I was, and to know that I had God’s blessing. Whenever I heard the account of the Baptism of Our Lord, I could not help but wonder what it would be like for a ray of light to come from the heavens and for a voice to say, “This is my child, the beloved, in whom I am well pleased.” What would it take, I thought, to be the kind of person that God would think was an exceptional being?
It saddens me to think that for so many years, I felt that one had to be exceptional to be loved by God. My child’s view of the world was that only if one was kind, obedient, and followed all the rules, would they would be worthy of God’s love. Of course, now I know that God’s love is a gift freely given to us and that we are all worthy of that love just because we are who we are.
At the same time, it does not seem to me that we can do anything we want, any way we want, and still assume that our relationship with God is perfect as is. If that were the case, we would not have needed Jesus to show us how to fully live into our human identity and our spiritual communion with God.
For many of us, Baptism is the beginning of a lifelong commitment to seeking an understanding of what it means to be a child of God. It is a relationship that begins with a set of promises, sometimes made on our behalf when we are babe or children, and later on when we, as adults, renew those promises within our faith community. The Book of Common Prayer tells us that “Holy Baptism is full initiation by water and the Holy Spirit into Christ’s body, the church.” And that the bond which God establishes in Baptism is “indissoluble.” With Baptism we become Christ’s own forever, and that relationship can never be broken.
Holy Baptism is the process by which our parents, godparents, or we commit to Christ and to live the Christian faith. We promise to pray, continue in the teachings of the Apostles, to participate in fellowship, to resist evil, and when we do sin, repent, and return to God. We promise to share the Good News of God in Christ and to serve one another with love. We promise to work for justice and peace and to respect the dignity of other human beings. We ask for God’s help to live into this covenant because we know we cannot depend on our will power to keep faith with our Creator. We look to Jesus to show us how to go forth and do what we promise God we will do.
It is easy to understand why John was surprised when Jesus came to him to be baptized. Remember that John recognized Jesus as the anointed one when they worth both still in their mothers’ wombs. John’s ministry was to prepare the people to return to God through a ritual immersion designed to wash away sin and to purify the body. So, you can see why John wondered why Jesus, the one born without sin, would ask to be baptized? Although he was still probably unsure about who should baptize whom, John chose to trust that Jesus would know the right thing to do. Scripture tells us that this was the right thing to do because God affirms this decision by saying, “This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.”
Like John, we may not initially understand or even agree on how things should be done. However, can trust that Jesus always knows what is right. When we choose to follow Jesus, to model our lives after his, to trust in him for guidance and strength, we affirm our belief that Jesus is our savior. Jesus will show us how to be in a relationship with God from the time we are vulnerable babies until the day we are called home to be with God forever. We can go forth in the world to heal and do good. We can go forth into the world to seek justice and peace. We can go forth into the world, knowing that God equips us with gifts of grace that come from living in communion with God’s beloved. The bond between God and us cannot be broken because God is with us. Our Emmanuel, God and human, shows us the way to live rightly and to keep the covenant we have made.
We make our promises to God, knowing that we will need God’s help to keep them. Human nature is such that we are subject to going astray, forgetting our purpose, and sometimes we are just plain lost. Prayer can be helpful, and there is a prayer that comes from the Forward Day by Day called For Today that helps me to focus on God’s will and not mine. I share it with you now in the hope that you will also find it to be useful.
“O God: Give me strength to live another day. Let me not turn coward before its difficulties or prove recreant to its duties. Let me not lose faith in other people. Keep me sweet and sound of heart, in spite of ingratitude, treachery or meanness. Preserve me from minding little stings or giving them. Help me to keep my heart clean and to live so honestly and fearlessly that no outward failure can dishearten me or take away the joy of conscious integrity. Open wide the eyes of my soul that I may see good in all things. Grant me this day some new vision of thy truth. Inspire me with the spirit of joy and gladness and make me the cup of strength to suffering souls. In the name of the strong deliverer, or only Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Amen.”
Jan 06, 2020 |
The Epiphany, Revised Common Lectionary
| Stephen Shaver
The Epiphany, Revised Common Lectionary
Isaiah 60:1-6
Ephesians 3:1-12
Matthew 2:1-12
Psalm 72:1-7,10-14
+ + +
Ephesians 3:1-12
Matthew 2:1-12
Psalm 72:1-7,10-14
+ + +
They brought him gifts, these magi; these wise men, mages, learned ones from the East. They came to find a king, and the one who was already king was not amused. He sent them on to Bethlehem, Herod, that fox, that sly wielder of power, plying them with smooth words even as his soldiers sharpened their swords for what was to come.
They brought him gifts, these sages, these Iranian seers, these Zoroastrian seekers of God. They followed a light from heaven, and they came to a humble house. And they opened their chests and brought forth their treasures, rich gifts laden with hope and expectation: Gold. Incense. Myrrh.
What have you come to give him? What do you bring with you, tonight, hidden in the treasure chest of your deep and mysterious soul?
What do you bring?
Maybe you will give him your gold. Gold, a gift for a king: the currency of the rulers of this world. Gold for leadership and finance and getting things done. Gold for iPhones and project management and household budgeting and résumés. We all use gold—or dollars, or euros, or bitcoin, or the softer currency of time and energy and influence. We do work in this world, whether our sphere is the household or the workplace or the empire. The rulers of this world know about gold, how it can be used for good or evil: gold to build public works, gold to feed the poor, gold to pay the soldiers to slaughter the children of Bethlehem. Jesus will grow up to say that where our treasure is, there our heart will be also—in that order: because our hearts tend to follow our wallets, rather than the other way around. Where we invest our money and our time tends to become that which drives our hearts. Choosing to give away what God has first given us is for most of us about the quickest and most basic spiritual practice there is. How will we allocate the resources of which God has made us stewards? Will we follow the path of Herod or of Christ? Maybe gold is the gift your heart yearns to bring him tonight.
Maybe you come bringing incense. That sweet-smelling sap of Arabia whose billowing smoke sanctifies temples of Jerusalem and Rome. Incense, a gift for a god: the fragrance of prayer and devotion. Maybe your heart yearns to know what lies beyond this world, to taste the transcendent and commune with the Holy One. These magi know well what it is to seek the face of the holy. And so do so many of us, who yearn for meaning in a world we fear may lack it. We live in an age of crumbling religious institutions, when respectability and certainty ring more and more hollow. But our hunger for holiness is as fierce as ever. We seek the sacred in church and at yoga and at meditation, in music and art, in wilderness, in beauty wherever it may be found. We seek it, sometimes, in substances or food or sex; or we seek to stifle it in those things or in work or self-harm. But we are spiritual beings. The spark in us is drawn to the flame of the holy. We are created for awe. And so maybe tonight you have come to offer him incense: to kindle the flame of worship, to cultivate a life of prayer. Maybe your heart yearns for a deeper pattern of spiritual practice in your daily and weekly round. Maybe you are called to take up in a new way your priestly vocation in the priesthood of all believers. Maybe this year will find you deepening your spiritual practice. Offer the gift of incense.
Gold and incense: we heard of them earlier in the words from the prophet Isaiah. Two gifts that were foretold so long ago, gold for a king, incense for a god. But to this newborn Jesus the magi have brought also a third gift—an unexpected gift. And, perhaps, an unwelcome gift. Another spice of Arabia—but this one not for a temple, but for a tomb. Myrrh to embalm the dead. And the time will come when this gift is needed, when the body of Jesus will lie not in swaddling clothes but in a shroud. No prophet could have predicted this crucified Messiah. Gold for a king—that we can understand. Incense for a god—just what we were looking for. But this king and this God has come to do something new: to go with us into death itself. Myrrh is for one who shares our vulnerability and our pain, who mourns and laments, who knows what it is to be left all alone and cry out to a God who does not seem to hear: My God, why have you forsaken me? Maybe tonight you bring the gift of myrrh. Maybe what you have brought with you tonight is your heart’s pain and sorrow, or the sorrows of those you love, or even the sorrows of the whole world, a world still filled with manipulative rulers, with children in danger, with wars and threats of wars. Tonight we celebrate the epiphany, the revelation of a great mystery. Part of that mystery is that this king prefers to rule not from the throne but from the cross, and this God has made the place of outcasts into the Holy of Holies. Our suffering and our pain is close to the heart of God, because God has chosen to come among us. Jesus has gone with us into the mouth of death. God has raised him from the dead and in that raising is God’s promise that our deaths are not the final word, and that the powers of death will not prevail against God’s love.
So tonight as you come to meet him, bring your gifts. Bring your gold: your money, your time and labor, the best of all your efforts in this world. Bring your incense: your prayers and devotion, your thirst to know the Holy One. And bring your myrrh: your suffering, your fear and anger, your vulnerability. Come to the prayers and the table. And come knowing that in an even deeper sense there is nothing we can possibly offer, because Jesus himself is all gift, and his yearning for you is already the gift that has brought you here in response.
Jan 05, 2020 |
2 Christmas, Year A, Revised Common Lectionary
| Stephen Shaver
2 Christmas, Year A, Revised Common Lectionary
Jeremiah 31:7-14
Ephesians 1:3-6,15-19a
Luke 2:41-52
Psalm 84
+ + +
It’s not easy being twelve.
It’s not so easy being the parent of a twelve-year-old either.
Maybe even a little more so if that twelve-year-old is the Messiah.
This is the only passage in the Bible that tells us a story of Jesus participating in the universal human experience of being a kid, with every bit of the joy and frustration that involves.
Imagine how it is to be Jesus in this story. Here he is, twelve years old, just a year short of young manhood in his culture, given a chance to run around in the big city during the most important festival of the year. He finds his way to the Temple where his passion for God finds an outlet as he begins hanging out with these older, wiser rabbis—and lo and behold, he actually has a contribution of his own to make to the conversation. He’s being taken seriously by these adults—adults who are not his parents!— he’s grappling with his identity and beginning to discover a sense of calling.
And, of course, while all this is happening, he’s also being COMPLETELY oblivious to the fact that he’s putting his parents through hell. Which lets us draw the theological conclusion that when the Word of God became incarnate as a human being, he took on all of human nature, including the adolescent part. Including that quality of complete absorption in the events at hand that makes parents tear their hair out and use dreaded phrases like “teenage irresponsibility.” It’s no wonder they’re angry when they find him. Maybe even more so after his response, which after all seems a little flip. “Your father and I have been out of our minds with worry looking for you.” “Why, didn’t you know I’d be in my Father’s house?” Joseph gets the worst of it, with Jesus’ play on the word “Father.” There’s a theological point here about how Jesus’ identity as child of God is more fundamental than his identity as child of Mary and Joseph. But there’s also a strong hint of “Oh yeah? You’re not my real dad anyway.” If you’re from a blended family, you can appreciate that dynamic all too well.
So there’s pain here. But there’s also something precious. Jesus is growing up, and his parents can’t fully understand him. He’s entering into a world where they can’t totally follow. And in some way, they seem to get that, and there’s grace here too: it says Jesus goes back to Nazareth with them and is obedient to them, and Mary treasures these things in her heart, and Jesus grows in favor with God and people.[1]
There’s so much here to identify with for any of us. Have you ever felt like your parents didn’t understand you? Ever wished you had a secret, special destiny? Ever parented a young person who took you for granted and knew just how to say the things that would hurt you the most? Ever had a family conflict that broke your heart, and then found a way to reconcile? This story is so precious because it’s so incarnational, so fully illustrative of Jesus as sharing our experience of what it is to be human. His vocation may be unique, but his experience of being an adolescent is the same one we share. Each of us, as we grow older, has to come to grips with the task of figuring out just who we really are. For Jesus that identity was the eternal Son of God. For us it’s different. But as Paul says today in the letter to the Ephesians, in our baptism we become children of God by adoption through Jesus Christ. We’re given a share in the relationship between God and God’s beloved child Jesus, and that becomes our truest deepest, identity.
For a while when I lived in Seattle I volunteered as a chaplain at the county juvenile detention center. One week I had a young man ask to talk to me; let’s call him Rico. He said he was worried about his mom who was in danger of being deported. Depending on how his drug treatment program went, he might not be released in time to see her. Meanwhile, he was also worried about his own kids. At age sixteen, Rico had three kids, with three different mothers. But none of this was the real reason he wanted to talk. Rico told me he wanted me to help him pray—for all these worries, but also for his fellow young people at the detention center. And in particular, he wanted to learn to pray for his enemies. I jotted down what he said to me shortly afterwards. He told me, “I feel like I need to pray for my enemies because God loves them too. I don’t need to fight them to prove who’s the biggest man. Praying for them is what Jesus would do."
Jesus came to discover that being God’s child was a deeper identity than what the world knew him as, Mary and Joseph’s child. Two thousand years later, Rico was discovering that his own identity as God’s child was deeper than what the world knew him as, a juvenile offender, or an immigrant, or a drug user, or any of the other labels that might be applied to him. And he was learning to see his enemies as God’s children too.
“Who are you?” That’s the question we begin to try to answer in adolescence, and we keep answering throughout our whole lives. Who you truly are is not just who your parents say you are, who your friends say you are, who your society says you are, or even who your church says you are. Who you really are is who God says you are. And what God says is: You are my child—uniquely created, uniquely redeemed, uniquely loved.
When we’re secure in that identity, we can find the strength to live the abundant life God calls us to live—even when it calls us to do hard things like forgiving our enemies, from the detention center, or from the cross.
The writer Mark Bozzuti-Jones has written about what it can feel like to experience ourselves as children of God. He writes, “Act silly to make God laugh. Curl up in the arms of God. Ask God to read you a story. Allow God to throw you up in the air. Play hide and seek with God. Allow God to play hide and seek with you. Cry when God goes away. Squeal with delight when God comes back. Listen to God say how much you are loved.”[2]
As this Christmastide draws to a close, may we have ears to hear that message of love.
[1] For more reflections on the richness of this story and its connections to youth ministry, read the first several pages of the “Sample Pages” available from the Journey to Adulthood program at https://www.leaderresources.org/assets/images/J2A/J2A%20Overview%202016.pdf.
[2] The Womb of Advent (New York: Church Publishing, 2007), 87.
Ephesians 1:3-6,15-19a
Luke 2:41-52
Psalm 84
+ + +
It’s not easy being twelve.
It’s not so easy being the parent of a twelve-year-old either.
Maybe even a little more so if that twelve-year-old is the Messiah.
This is the only passage in the Bible that tells us a story of Jesus participating in the universal human experience of being a kid, with every bit of the joy and frustration that involves.
Imagine how it is to be Jesus in this story. Here he is, twelve years old, just a year short of young manhood in his culture, given a chance to run around in the big city during the most important festival of the year. He finds his way to the Temple where his passion for God finds an outlet as he begins hanging out with these older, wiser rabbis—and lo and behold, he actually has a contribution of his own to make to the conversation. He’s being taken seriously by these adults—adults who are not his parents!— he’s grappling with his identity and beginning to discover a sense of calling.
And, of course, while all this is happening, he’s also being COMPLETELY oblivious to the fact that he’s putting his parents through hell. Which lets us draw the theological conclusion that when the Word of God became incarnate as a human being, he took on all of human nature, including the adolescent part. Including that quality of complete absorption in the events at hand that makes parents tear their hair out and use dreaded phrases like “teenage irresponsibility.” It’s no wonder they’re angry when they find him. Maybe even more so after his response, which after all seems a little flip. “Your father and I have been out of our minds with worry looking for you.” “Why, didn’t you know I’d be in my Father’s house?” Joseph gets the worst of it, with Jesus’ play on the word “Father.” There’s a theological point here about how Jesus’ identity as child of God is more fundamental than his identity as child of Mary and Joseph. But there’s also a strong hint of “Oh yeah? You’re not my real dad anyway.” If you’re from a blended family, you can appreciate that dynamic all too well.
So there’s pain here. But there’s also something precious. Jesus is growing up, and his parents can’t fully understand him. He’s entering into a world where they can’t totally follow. And in some way, they seem to get that, and there’s grace here too: it says Jesus goes back to Nazareth with them and is obedient to them, and Mary treasures these things in her heart, and Jesus grows in favor with God and people.[1]
There’s so much here to identify with for any of us. Have you ever felt like your parents didn’t understand you? Ever wished you had a secret, special destiny? Ever parented a young person who took you for granted and knew just how to say the things that would hurt you the most? Ever had a family conflict that broke your heart, and then found a way to reconcile? This story is so precious because it’s so incarnational, so fully illustrative of Jesus as sharing our experience of what it is to be human. His vocation may be unique, but his experience of being an adolescent is the same one we share. Each of us, as we grow older, has to come to grips with the task of figuring out just who we really are. For Jesus that identity was the eternal Son of God. For us it’s different. But as Paul says today in the letter to the Ephesians, in our baptism we become children of God by adoption through Jesus Christ. We’re given a share in the relationship between God and God’s beloved child Jesus, and that becomes our truest deepest, identity.
For a while when I lived in Seattle I volunteered as a chaplain at the county juvenile detention center. One week I had a young man ask to talk to me; let’s call him Rico. He said he was worried about his mom who was in danger of being deported. Depending on how his drug treatment program went, he might not be released in time to see her. Meanwhile, he was also worried about his own kids. At age sixteen, Rico had three kids, with three different mothers. But none of this was the real reason he wanted to talk. Rico told me he wanted me to help him pray—for all these worries, but also for his fellow young people at the detention center. And in particular, he wanted to learn to pray for his enemies. I jotted down what he said to me shortly afterwards. He told me, “I feel like I need to pray for my enemies because God loves them too. I don’t need to fight them to prove who’s the biggest man. Praying for them is what Jesus would do."
Jesus came to discover that being God’s child was a deeper identity than what the world knew him as, Mary and Joseph’s child. Two thousand years later, Rico was discovering that his own identity as God’s child was deeper than what the world knew him as, a juvenile offender, or an immigrant, or a drug user, or any of the other labels that might be applied to him. And he was learning to see his enemies as God’s children too.
“Who are you?” That’s the question we begin to try to answer in adolescence, and we keep answering throughout our whole lives. Who you truly are is not just who your parents say you are, who your friends say you are, who your society says you are, or even who your church says you are. Who you really are is who God says you are. And what God says is: You are my child—uniquely created, uniquely redeemed, uniquely loved.
When we’re secure in that identity, we can find the strength to live the abundant life God calls us to live—even when it calls us to do hard things like forgiving our enemies, from the detention center, or from the cross.
The writer Mark Bozzuti-Jones has written about what it can feel like to experience ourselves as children of God. He writes, “Act silly to make God laugh. Curl up in the arms of God. Ask God to read you a story. Allow God to throw you up in the air. Play hide and seek with God. Allow God to play hide and seek with you. Cry when God goes away. Squeal with delight when God comes back. Listen to God say how much you are loved.”[2]
As this Christmastide draws to a close, may we have ears to hear that message of love.
[1] For more reflections on the richness of this story and its connections to youth ministry, read the first several pages of the “Sample Pages” available from the Journey to Adulthood program at https://www.leaderresources.org/assets/images/J2A/J2A%20Overview%202016.pdf.
[2] The Womb of Advent (New York: Church Publishing, 2007), 87.
Dec 29, 2019 |
First Sunday after Christmas, All Years, Revised Common Lectionary
| Hugh Stevenson
First Sunday after Christmas, All Years, Revised Common Lectionary
When these things begin to come to pass, then look up, and lift up your heads; for your redemption draweth nigh. (Luke 21:28 KJV)
I got a kite for my birthday. I love kites, the way they ascend into the heavens transcending the force of gravity, up, up and away. We took my new kite to Bodega Head where there was a fresh breeze from the sea and it flew up into the air. What exhilaration! So the song that concludes Mary Poppins speaks to me. It’s a song of joy or redemption, a song of resurrection. The Banks family had been going down hill, while George Banks devoted his full attention to the bank where he worked and neglected his family. But when he lost his job it was a blessing in disguise; he had time to fix the kite which was broken and to take his family out to the park as he sang:
Among those who reached for the sky were Elijah who “ascended in a whirlwind into heaven” in a chariot of fire with horses of fire.[4] And Jesus who “was lifted up (ascended), and a cloud took him out of [the disciples’] sight.”[5]
In olden times when people still believed in a flat earth, there was a dome (or firmament) created by God whence soft refreshing rain fell down upon the earth. [6] Up above the dome, God sits enthroned surrounded by the heavenly court in the heavenly city–a magnificent place where the streets are paved with gold and the gates are pearls. From his vantage point God sees all things that take place on earth. He knows if you have been naughty or nice–or in Biblical terms “righteous” or “wicked.” Jacob had a dream of a ladder reaching up to heaven with angels ascending and descending and St John the Divine passed through an open door to enter heaven.[7]
On a number of occasions when he was praying, Jesus looked up to heaven: when he broke the five loaves to feed the multitude and when He raised Lazarus from the dead. When he was baptized, the heavens opened and the Spirit descended upon him like a dove. [8]
In our sophistication, we know that there isn’t actually a dome up there. It is a metaphor rather than a reality. It stands for presence of God, it stands for heaven. We should “seek the things that are above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God.”[9] We should not spend our lives earthbound, with our eyes cast down. We should not be preoccupied with troubles that might afflict us in this life. Think how much we would be missing out on. So, as Jesus said, “Look up, and lift up your heads; for your redemption draweth nigh.” The Christmas stories require us to look up lest we miss out.
At the annunciation, the angel Gabriel announced to Mary that “you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you will name him Jesus. He will be great, and will be called the Son of the Most High, and the Lord God will give to him the throne of his ancestor David.” And in Elizabeth’s song which we call the canticle, Benedictus, “You, child, will be called the prophet of the Most High; for you will go before the Lord to prepare his ways.” [10] If you would see Jesus, the Son of the Most High then you must keep your eyes raised to the heavens. So we sing: “He came down to earth from heaven, who is God and Lord of all.[11]
This is what the shepherds did when they were watching their flocks in the fields by night. They looked up and first saw an angel who told them, ” ‘Do not be afraid; for see—I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: to you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, who is the Messiah, the Lord.” Then “suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God and saying, “Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace among those whom he favours!”[12]
If the Wise men from the East had not looked up they would not have seen the star that guided them to the stable where the child who was been born king of the Jews was lying in a manger. But they saw, they came they paid him homage and they gave him their priceless gifts. Following their example we should look up for the guiding star.
Finally let us not forget one more who flies through the air over the roof tops each Christmas in a sleigh drawn by Rudolph and the other reindeer in order to bring presents for the little children. As he finished his work, he was up, up and away and his parting word as he drove out of sight was “Happy Christmas and to all a good night.” Amen to that!
Christmas I December 29 2019
[1] Mary Poppins (1964). “Lets go fly a kite” is sung by David Tomlinson who plays Mr. Banks, then by Dick van Dyke, the chimney sweep, and finally by the full chorus. The composers were Richard Sherman and Robert Sherman
[2] Group Captain Douglas Bader (1910-1982). A group captain is the equivalent of a colonel in the military.
[3] A movie with the same title followed two years later starring Kenneth More as Bader. It won a BAFTA for Best British Film
[4] 2 Kings 2:11
[5] Acts 1:
[6] Genesis 1:6-8
[7] Genesis 28:10-19, Revelation 4:1
[8] Matthew 14:19ff, John 11:41, Matthew 3:16
[9] Colossians 3:1, the epistle for Easter D (Year A, this year, 2020)
[10] Luke 1:31, 1:76. El Elyon was the deity of Melchizedek, the priest of Jerusalem when it was a Jebusite city (Genesis 14:18)
[11] “Once in royal David’s city” Hymnal # 102
[12] Luke 2:8ff
I got a kite for my birthday. I love kites, the way they ascend into the heavens transcending the force of gravity, up, up and away. We took my new kite to Bodega Head where there was a fresh breeze from the sea and it flew up into the air. What exhilaration! So the song that concludes Mary Poppins speaks to me. It’s a song of joy or redemption, a song of resurrection. The Banks family had been going down hill, while George Banks devoted his full attention to the bank where he worked and neglected his family. But when he lost his job it was a blessing in disguise; he had time to fix the kite which was broken and to take his family out to the park as he sang:
Oh, oh, oh! Let’s go fly a kite up to the highest height!Let’s go fly a kite and send it soaring up through the atmosphere
Up where the air is clear. Oh, let’s go fly a kite![1]
One of my heroes when I was a child was Douglas Bader.[2] He was a British pilot during the Battle of Britain. He was credited with 22 aerial victories. He was shot down in 1941 and spent the rest of the war as a prisoner-of-war in Colditz Castle. And all this, despite having had both legs amputated after a flying accident in 1931. His biography by Paul Brickhill was called Reach for the Sky (1954).[3]
Up where the air is clear. Oh, let’s go fly a kite![1]
Among those who reached for the sky were Elijah who “ascended in a whirlwind into heaven” in a chariot of fire with horses of fire.[4] And Jesus who “was lifted up (ascended), and a cloud took him out of [the disciples’] sight.”[5]
In olden times when people still believed in a flat earth, there was a dome (or firmament) created by God whence soft refreshing rain fell down upon the earth. [6] Up above the dome, God sits enthroned surrounded by the heavenly court in the heavenly city–a magnificent place where the streets are paved with gold and the gates are pearls. From his vantage point God sees all things that take place on earth. He knows if you have been naughty or nice–or in Biblical terms “righteous” or “wicked.” Jacob had a dream of a ladder reaching up to heaven with angels ascending and descending and St John the Divine passed through an open door to enter heaven.[7]
On a number of occasions when he was praying, Jesus looked up to heaven: when he broke the five loaves to feed the multitude and when He raised Lazarus from the dead. When he was baptized, the heavens opened and the Spirit descended upon him like a dove. [8]
In our sophistication, we know that there isn’t actually a dome up there. It is a metaphor rather than a reality. It stands for presence of God, it stands for heaven. We should “seek the things that are above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God.”[9] We should not spend our lives earthbound, with our eyes cast down. We should not be preoccupied with troubles that might afflict us in this life. Think how much we would be missing out on. So, as Jesus said, “Look up, and lift up your heads; for your redemption draweth nigh.” The Christmas stories require us to look up lest we miss out.
At the annunciation, the angel Gabriel announced to Mary that “you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you will name him Jesus. He will be great, and will be called the Son of the Most High, and the Lord God will give to him the throne of his ancestor David.” And in Elizabeth’s song which we call the canticle, Benedictus, “You, child, will be called the prophet of the Most High; for you will go before the Lord to prepare his ways.” [10] If you would see Jesus, the Son of the Most High then you must keep your eyes raised to the heavens. So we sing: “He came down to earth from heaven, who is God and Lord of all.[11]
This is what the shepherds did when they were watching their flocks in the fields by night. They looked up and first saw an angel who told them, ” ‘Do not be afraid; for see—I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: to you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, who is the Messiah, the Lord.” Then “suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God and saying, “Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace among those whom he favours!”[12]
If the Wise men from the East had not looked up they would not have seen the star that guided them to the stable where the child who was been born king of the Jews was lying in a manger. But they saw, they came they paid him homage and they gave him their priceless gifts. Following their example we should look up for the guiding star.
Finally let us not forget one more who flies through the air over the roof tops each Christmas in a sleigh drawn by Rudolph and the other reindeer in order to bring presents for the little children. As he finished his work, he was up, up and away and his parting word as he drove out of sight was “Happy Christmas and to all a good night.” Amen to that!
Christmas I December 29 2019
[1] Mary Poppins (1964). “Lets go fly a kite” is sung by David Tomlinson who plays Mr. Banks, then by Dick van Dyke, the chimney sweep, and finally by the full chorus. The composers were Richard Sherman and Robert Sherman
[2] Group Captain Douglas Bader (1910-1982). A group captain is the equivalent of a colonel in the military.
[3] A movie with the same title followed two years later starring Kenneth More as Bader. It won a BAFTA for Best British Film
[4] 2 Kings 2:11
[5] Acts 1:
[6] Genesis 1:6-8
[7] Genesis 28:10-19, Revelation 4:1
[8] Matthew 14:19ff, John 11:41, Matthew 3:16
[9] Colossians 3:1, the epistle for Easter D (Year A, this year, 2020)
[10] Luke 1:31, 1:76. El Elyon was the deity of Melchizedek, the priest of Jerusalem when it was a Jebusite city (Genesis 14:18)
[11] “Once in royal David’s city” Hymnal # 102
[12] Luke 2:8ff
Dec 15, 2019 |
3 Advent, Year A, Revised Common Lectionary
| Stephen Shaver
3 Advent, Year A, Revised Common Lectionary
Isaiah 35:1-10
James 5:7-10
Matthew 11:2-11
Psalm 146:4-9
+ + +
There’s something very human about buyer’s remorse.
In a few weeks we’ll be seeing that up close as the return lines get long after Christmas. Although less and less in retail stores and more and more in post offices and UPS Stores. A few months ago I made an Amazon return and discovered for the first time that I didn’t even have to box up my item—just to bring it to the UPS Store and they would box it up for me. Companies are realizing that making their return policies easier actually makes them more money, as customers get more likely to buy in the first place. Buyer’s remorse is all part of the business plan.
This Sunday we hear about John the Baptist apparently experiencing a case of buyer’s remorse. This time last week we heard John predicting that someone more important than himself was coming. Between last week’s gospel passage and this one, Jesus himself was baptized by John, and the Holy Spirit descended on Jesus in a public display of God’s favor.
But since then John has been arrested. His ministry is over. His execution is imminent. And it seems he’s begun to wonder whether his successor is really what he’d hoped. Like a politician in primary season, he worries: did I endorse the wrong candidate? “Are you really the one who is to come? Or should we wait for another?”
We might wonder what the problem is—why the buyer’s remorse? As Jesus says, he’s healing the sick, raising the dead, and preaching good news to the poor. What more does John want?
And the passage doesn’t tell us directly. But I wonder if the answer has to do with John’s expectations about what the Messiah was supposed to do. Last week we heard John warning people about God’s wrath to come. He predicted that when the coming one appeared, he would fry sinners in, quote, an “unquenchable fire.” John’s motivational technique was centered around a heavy dose of threat. Whereas among all the good and exciting things Jesus is doing, healing the lepers and proclaiming good news and so forth … we have to admit there seems to be a conspicuous lack of frying.
It may be that John expected a Messiah with more teeth. Someone who would open up a can of heavenly rectitude and set sinners in their place. Israel is oppressed by the Roman Empire, and instead of overthrowing Caesar or setting fire to the unrighteous, the person John has put his hopes on is going around a small corner of Galilee doing some very nice healings and proclaiming some very nice good news to the poor.
It’s interesting that Jesus tells the crowd that John is both more important than anyone else who’s ever been born, and less important than the least important person in the kingdom of heaven. In one breath he praises John; in the next he puts him in his proper place.
And again, Jesus doesn’t spell out exactly what he means. But it might have to do with the fact that John the Baptist is the ultimate preacher of God’s commands.
There’s a stark and terrifying truth about God that we as human beings have to come to terms with. God is holy. God is incredibly holy in a way you and I will never be. God is good—in fact God is the essence of what it means to be good. And out of that holiness and goodness, God is pleased when we act in some ways. And God is saddened and angered when we act in other ways. Many of us might prefer a cozy God who winks at our failings. John yanks away any gauzy sentimentality we might have about God. Change your lives, he says to God’s people: live the way God wants you to live … or else.
And it might be that or else that shows what John still lacks. For John it means or else the unquenchable fire. Not for Jesus. In Jesus we see both God’s perfect commandments and God’s never-failing mercy all in one. Jesus doesn’t wink at sin. He calls out injustice. And yet his response to it is not to torture his enemies into submission but to win them over through undefeatable love.
It’s easy to be tempted to remake Jesus in the image John would have preferred. A few years ago the bestseller lists were topped by what was essentially a Christian fan fiction series about the end times. You may remember it; it was called the Left Behind series. The last book in the series climaxes with the second coming of Jesus. And this time he’s taking no prisoners. I quote:
“Tens of thousands of foot soldiers dropped their weapons, … fell to their knees, and writhed as they were invisibly sliced asunder. Their innards and entrails gushed to the desert floor, and as those around them turned to run, they too were slain, their blood pooling and rising in the unforgiving brightness of the glory of Christ. … It was as if Antichrist’s army had become the sacrificial beasts for the Lord’s slaughter.”
Now I can only call this a kind of Christ-as-Rambo theology. And, with respect to my more conservative Christian siblings, I have to say it misses the whole point of who Jesus is. As if the character of Jesus we see in the gospels, the one who forgives his enemies from the cross, was just a mask that he’ll take off at the end when he quits offering second chances and comes out with all guns blazing. According to that theology, Jesus is just another coercive, violent tyrant like any other—only with superpowers. And you’d better get on his side of things before time runs out, or else.
That may have been the kind of Messiah John was expecting. But thank God that’s not the Messiah who showed up in Jesus. And if Advent tells us anything, it’s that the Jesus who will come again in glory is the same Jesus who came the first time. The same holiness. The same goodness. And the same mercy. This is the one who chose not to be born in a palace, but in a manger: to parents who weren’t important enough to get a room at the inn. He chose to ride into Jerusalem not in a chariot to be crowned, but on a donkey to be executed. He chose not to destroy those who killed him, but to destroy death itself.
“Blessed is anyone who takes no offense at me,” says Jesus. May we never be offended by a God who is more merciful than we are. And at his coming, may we not cower, but rejoice.
James 5:7-10
Matthew 11:2-11
Psalm 146:4-9
+ + +
There’s something very human about buyer’s remorse.
In a few weeks we’ll be seeing that up close as the return lines get long after Christmas. Although less and less in retail stores and more and more in post offices and UPS Stores. A few months ago I made an Amazon return and discovered for the first time that I didn’t even have to box up my item—just to bring it to the UPS Store and they would box it up for me. Companies are realizing that making their return policies easier actually makes them more money, as customers get more likely to buy in the first place. Buyer’s remorse is all part of the business plan.
This Sunday we hear about John the Baptist apparently experiencing a case of buyer’s remorse. This time last week we heard John predicting that someone more important than himself was coming. Between last week’s gospel passage and this one, Jesus himself was baptized by John, and the Holy Spirit descended on Jesus in a public display of God’s favor.
But since then John has been arrested. His ministry is over. His execution is imminent. And it seems he’s begun to wonder whether his successor is really what he’d hoped. Like a politician in primary season, he worries: did I endorse the wrong candidate? “Are you really the one who is to come? Or should we wait for another?”
We might wonder what the problem is—why the buyer’s remorse? As Jesus says, he’s healing the sick, raising the dead, and preaching good news to the poor. What more does John want?
And the passage doesn’t tell us directly. But I wonder if the answer has to do with John’s expectations about what the Messiah was supposed to do. Last week we heard John warning people about God’s wrath to come. He predicted that when the coming one appeared, he would fry sinners in, quote, an “unquenchable fire.” John’s motivational technique was centered around a heavy dose of threat. Whereas among all the good and exciting things Jesus is doing, healing the lepers and proclaiming good news and so forth … we have to admit there seems to be a conspicuous lack of frying.
It may be that John expected a Messiah with more teeth. Someone who would open up a can of heavenly rectitude and set sinners in their place. Israel is oppressed by the Roman Empire, and instead of overthrowing Caesar or setting fire to the unrighteous, the person John has put his hopes on is going around a small corner of Galilee doing some very nice healings and proclaiming some very nice good news to the poor.
It’s interesting that Jesus tells the crowd that John is both more important than anyone else who’s ever been born, and less important than the least important person in the kingdom of heaven. In one breath he praises John; in the next he puts him in his proper place.
And again, Jesus doesn’t spell out exactly what he means. But it might have to do with the fact that John the Baptist is the ultimate preacher of God’s commands.
There’s a stark and terrifying truth about God that we as human beings have to come to terms with. God is holy. God is incredibly holy in a way you and I will never be. God is good—in fact God is the essence of what it means to be good. And out of that holiness and goodness, God is pleased when we act in some ways. And God is saddened and angered when we act in other ways. Many of us might prefer a cozy God who winks at our failings. John yanks away any gauzy sentimentality we might have about God. Change your lives, he says to God’s people: live the way God wants you to live … or else.
And it might be that or else that shows what John still lacks. For John it means or else the unquenchable fire. Not for Jesus. In Jesus we see both God’s perfect commandments and God’s never-failing mercy all in one. Jesus doesn’t wink at sin. He calls out injustice. And yet his response to it is not to torture his enemies into submission but to win them over through undefeatable love.
It’s easy to be tempted to remake Jesus in the image John would have preferred. A few years ago the bestseller lists were topped by what was essentially a Christian fan fiction series about the end times. You may remember it; it was called the Left Behind series. The last book in the series climaxes with the second coming of Jesus. And this time he’s taking no prisoners. I quote:
“Tens of thousands of foot soldiers dropped their weapons, … fell to their knees, and writhed as they were invisibly sliced asunder. Their innards and entrails gushed to the desert floor, and as those around them turned to run, they too were slain, their blood pooling and rising in the unforgiving brightness of the glory of Christ. … It was as if Antichrist’s army had become the sacrificial beasts for the Lord’s slaughter.”
Now I can only call this a kind of Christ-as-Rambo theology. And, with respect to my more conservative Christian siblings, I have to say it misses the whole point of who Jesus is. As if the character of Jesus we see in the gospels, the one who forgives his enemies from the cross, was just a mask that he’ll take off at the end when he quits offering second chances and comes out with all guns blazing. According to that theology, Jesus is just another coercive, violent tyrant like any other—only with superpowers. And you’d better get on his side of things before time runs out, or else.
That may have been the kind of Messiah John was expecting. But thank God that’s not the Messiah who showed up in Jesus. And if Advent tells us anything, it’s that the Jesus who will come again in glory is the same Jesus who came the first time. The same holiness. The same goodness. And the same mercy. This is the one who chose not to be born in a palace, but in a manger: to parents who weren’t important enough to get a room at the inn. He chose to ride into Jerusalem not in a chariot to be crowned, but on a donkey to be executed. He chose not to destroy those who killed him, but to destroy death itself.
“Blessed is anyone who takes no offense at me,” says Jesus. May we never be offended by a God who is more merciful than we are. And at his coming, may we not cower, but rejoice.
Dec 01, 2019 |
1 Advent, Year A, Revised Common Lectionary
| Stephen Shaver
1 Advent, Year A, Revised Common Lectionary
Isaiah 2:1-5
Psalm 122
Romans 13:11-14
Matthew 24:36-44
+ + +
It was about fifteen minutes before the end of my shift as hospital chaplain on call when I was paged to the cardiac catheterization lab.
I’d never been to the cath lab before. It’s not a place chaplains usually have a reason to visit. Patients usually go there for a procedure, then go home, or back to their inpatient beds. As I answered the page I could hear the shock in the nurse’s voice as she told me what had happened. A man in his fifties—let’s call him James—had come in for a test. Things seemed to be going routinely, until they weren’t. Without any warning, his heart stopped. The team performed CPR, but despite their frantic efforts, James died there on the table.
Through their tears his wife and daughters told me that he’d walked the dog in the park that morning. That evening they were planning to have dinner. Instead, for James and his family, that was the day the world came crashing down around their heads and their predictable lives changed forever.
Sometimes those moments come in other ways. For many here in Sonoma County a moment like that came in the early morning hours of October 9, 2017. We had an aftershock of that moment again this October. But whether it’s a natural disaster, a medical emergency, or some other unforeseen crisis, there are moments that crash through the bubbles of security and predictability we may try to construct for ourselves. Moments as unexpected as the flood in the days of Noah, or the coming of a thief in the night.
It feels a little jarring to think about the cryptic sayings of Jesus about the end of the world at a time when we might rather think about what to do with the leftover turkey or what to put on the Christmas wish list. But every Advent the Christian calendar does this to us: it prods us out of complacency and into self-examination. Advent is a time to prepare for the coming of Jesus. Not only the coming that already happened at Bethlehem, but also his future coming at the end of all things. Christians have always proclaimed that the God who brought new life to Jesus after his execution also intends to bring a new life to the whole creation. The reading we heard this morning from the prophet Isaiah gives us a glimpse of what God has in mind, a beautiful vision of the world at peace. But just as there is no resurrection without the cross, so the peace and reconciliation of the age to come can’t come without the confrontation and judgment of the present age.
That can feel like good news, or like bad news, depending to a large extent on how safe and secure our lives feel in the present. The apocalyptic sayings of Jesus about judgment and the end of the world were experienced as good news by early disciples who were poor and on the margins. When you already live on the edge of being hungry or getting arrested or assaulted, the idea of the world being turned upside down and God being ultimately in control can sound comforting. Not as much so if you’re relatively comfortable already. There’s a reason it’s been said that the good news of Jesus comforts the afflicted and afflicts the comfortable.[1]
I know how much I would like to live a relatively comfortable and safe life. The kind of life that includes paying off my student loans, accumulating a non-extravagant but sensibly flush retirement portfolio, providing my children with everything they need and some of what they want, and dying in my bed at a ripe old age. The fact that on a lot of days that kind of life seems not only possible, but actually within my own control to achieve, has more than a little to do with the class and race I happened to be born in. And it has more than a little to do with the messages in our culture that say that prosperity is just a matter of working hard enough, acting moral enough, and planning carefully enough.
That’s why I need to hear Jesus’ words from Matthew’s gospel this Advent. If my life is built on the illusion of self-made security, what will happen to me when that foundation comes crashing down? Following God offers an alternative to that illusion. But following God isn’t exactly a recipe for security. Jesus himself is the prime example. As he speaks the words we heard today, he is in the last week of his life, facing his own “end of the world.” And instead of protecting himself, he prepares himself by living in a relationship of total trust in God. It doesn’t keep him safe in any of the conventional ways. By the end of the week, he will have lost all his possessions; his friends; his good name; and his life itself. And yet even in the time of greatest disaster, Jesus is held safe in the love of the same God who carried Noah through the flood, and who carries Jesus through his own passion, so that his tomb becomes an ark, bringing him to resurrected life. There is no true safety in this world … but there is permanent safety in trusting God.
Maybe you’ve seen the musical Les Miserables, or read the novel. It has a story about a thief in the night. The convict Jean Valjean finds lodging at the home of a kind bishop and steals the silver as he leaves. The next morning he is caught and dragged back to the bishop’s home. He’s astonished when the bishop tells him, “My dear brother, I’m so glad you’ve come back. You remembered the silverware I gave you, but you forgot to take the candlesticks!” In that moment, Valjean’s life changes forever as he is stricken to the heart by the bishop’s love and mercy.
That bishop was prepared for the coming of the Son of Man. He prepared himself not by safeguarding his life and possessions, but by cultivating a loving heart and a set of priorities that matched the values of God’s kingdom.
It is Advent. Jesus is coming. He came to us once as a poor infant without a safe place to sleep. He will come again in glory to bring in a new creation. Meanwhile he comes to us each day in the face of our neighbor. May we recognize him now, so we will know him when he comes.
[1] Actually a phrase coined by Finley Peter Dunne to describe the role of journalism, but often used in the twentieth century in connection with preachers and Christian social reformers like Dorothy Day. See “God Comforts the Afflicted and Afflicts the Comfortable,” https://www.dictionaryofchristianese.com/god-comforts-the-afflicted-and-afflicts-the-comfortable/; cf. James Allaire and Rosemary Broughton, “An Introduction to the Life and Spirituality of Dorothy Day,” https://www.catholicworker.org/dorothyday/life-and-spirituality.html.
Psalm 122
Romans 13:11-14
Matthew 24:36-44
+ + +
It was about fifteen minutes before the end of my shift as hospital chaplain on call when I was paged to the cardiac catheterization lab.
I’d never been to the cath lab before. It’s not a place chaplains usually have a reason to visit. Patients usually go there for a procedure, then go home, or back to their inpatient beds. As I answered the page I could hear the shock in the nurse’s voice as she told me what had happened. A man in his fifties—let’s call him James—had come in for a test. Things seemed to be going routinely, until they weren’t. Without any warning, his heart stopped. The team performed CPR, but despite their frantic efforts, James died there on the table.
Through their tears his wife and daughters told me that he’d walked the dog in the park that morning. That evening they were planning to have dinner. Instead, for James and his family, that was the day the world came crashing down around their heads and their predictable lives changed forever.
Sometimes those moments come in other ways. For many here in Sonoma County a moment like that came in the early morning hours of October 9, 2017. We had an aftershock of that moment again this October. But whether it’s a natural disaster, a medical emergency, or some other unforeseen crisis, there are moments that crash through the bubbles of security and predictability we may try to construct for ourselves. Moments as unexpected as the flood in the days of Noah, or the coming of a thief in the night.
It feels a little jarring to think about the cryptic sayings of Jesus about the end of the world at a time when we might rather think about what to do with the leftover turkey or what to put on the Christmas wish list. But every Advent the Christian calendar does this to us: it prods us out of complacency and into self-examination. Advent is a time to prepare for the coming of Jesus. Not only the coming that already happened at Bethlehem, but also his future coming at the end of all things. Christians have always proclaimed that the God who brought new life to Jesus after his execution also intends to bring a new life to the whole creation. The reading we heard this morning from the prophet Isaiah gives us a glimpse of what God has in mind, a beautiful vision of the world at peace. But just as there is no resurrection without the cross, so the peace and reconciliation of the age to come can’t come without the confrontation and judgment of the present age.
That can feel like good news, or like bad news, depending to a large extent on how safe and secure our lives feel in the present. The apocalyptic sayings of Jesus about judgment and the end of the world were experienced as good news by early disciples who were poor and on the margins. When you already live on the edge of being hungry or getting arrested or assaulted, the idea of the world being turned upside down and God being ultimately in control can sound comforting. Not as much so if you’re relatively comfortable already. There’s a reason it’s been said that the good news of Jesus comforts the afflicted and afflicts the comfortable.[1]
I know how much I would like to live a relatively comfortable and safe life. The kind of life that includes paying off my student loans, accumulating a non-extravagant but sensibly flush retirement portfolio, providing my children with everything they need and some of what they want, and dying in my bed at a ripe old age. The fact that on a lot of days that kind of life seems not only possible, but actually within my own control to achieve, has more than a little to do with the class and race I happened to be born in. And it has more than a little to do with the messages in our culture that say that prosperity is just a matter of working hard enough, acting moral enough, and planning carefully enough.
That’s why I need to hear Jesus’ words from Matthew’s gospel this Advent. If my life is built on the illusion of self-made security, what will happen to me when that foundation comes crashing down? Following God offers an alternative to that illusion. But following God isn’t exactly a recipe for security. Jesus himself is the prime example. As he speaks the words we heard today, he is in the last week of his life, facing his own “end of the world.” And instead of protecting himself, he prepares himself by living in a relationship of total trust in God. It doesn’t keep him safe in any of the conventional ways. By the end of the week, he will have lost all his possessions; his friends; his good name; and his life itself. And yet even in the time of greatest disaster, Jesus is held safe in the love of the same God who carried Noah through the flood, and who carries Jesus through his own passion, so that his tomb becomes an ark, bringing him to resurrected life. There is no true safety in this world … but there is permanent safety in trusting God.
Maybe you’ve seen the musical Les Miserables, or read the novel. It has a story about a thief in the night. The convict Jean Valjean finds lodging at the home of a kind bishop and steals the silver as he leaves. The next morning he is caught and dragged back to the bishop’s home. He’s astonished when the bishop tells him, “My dear brother, I’m so glad you’ve come back. You remembered the silverware I gave you, but you forgot to take the candlesticks!” In that moment, Valjean’s life changes forever as he is stricken to the heart by the bishop’s love and mercy.
That bishop was prepared for the coming of the Son of Man. He prepared himself not by safeguarding his life and possessions, but by cultivating a loving heart and a set of priorities that matched the values of God’s kingdom.
It is Advent. Jesus is coming. He came to us once as a poor infant without a safe place to sleep. He will come again in glory to bring in a new creation. Meanwhile he comes to us each day in the face of our neighbor. May we recognize him now, so we will know him when he comes.
[1] Actually a phrase coined by Finley Peter Dunne to describe the role of journalism, but often used in the twentieth century in connection with preachers and Christian social reformers like Dorothy Day. See “God Comforts the Afflicted and Afflicts the Comfortable,” https://www.dictionaryofchristianese.com/god-comforts-the-afflicted-and-afflicts-the-comfortable/; cf. James Allaire and Rosemary Broughton, “An Introduction to the Life and Spirituality of Dorothy Day,” https://www.catholicworker.org/dorothyday/life-and-spirituality.html.
Nov 24, 2019 |
Proper 29, Year C, Revised Common Lectionary
| Stephen Shaver
Proper 29, Year C, Revised Common Lectionary
Jeremiah 23:1-6
Psalm 46
Colossians 1:11-20
Luke 23:33-43
+ + +
“If you are.” “If you are.” “If you are.”
That’s what Jesus hears over and over as he hangs there. “If you are the King of the Jews, come down!” “If you are the chosen one, save yourself!” “If you are the Messiah, save yourself and us!”
And it’s as if his story has come full circle, back to the beginning, after his baptism when he went out into the desert and faced his first test, when Satan tempted him with almost the very same words. “If you are the Son of God. . . .” Turn these stones into bread, to feed your hunger. Bow down to me, and become king of the world. Leap from the temple, and test the Lord your God.
In the beginning just as in the end, the temptation is the same. To misuse his power. To turn his divine authority to his own ends.
Power corrupts, they say. And so often that’s true. From the corridors of Washington to the trading floors of Wall Street to the casting rooms of Hollywood. So many of our headlines and so many of the conflicts that are churning our society today are at heart about the misuse of power. It’s been that way back through the ages, in throne rooms and locker rooms and boardrooms, and in the halls of churches and cathedrals too, because religious power is one of the easiest forms of power to turn to evil.
Against that backdrop it’s no wonder conscientious people sometimes find it hard to talk about power, or admit they have power, or try to get power. It can feel as if power is just a code word for domination and exploitation. But power isn’t always a bad thing. Actually power is a good thing. Power is the ability to get things done. The capacity to make something happen. To change the world in some way. Like everything else in God’s good creation power can be used for good or for evil. We ascribe power to God every Sunday when we say “the kingdom, the power, and the glory are yours” and “Holy, holy, holy Lord, God of power and might.” And so the question is what kind of power are we talking about? Power to create, or power to destroy? Power to hurt, or power to heal? Power to enslave, or power to set free?
Here at the cross Jesus shows what Paul means when he writes that God’s power is made perfect in weakness. Jesus shows his power not by destroying his enemies but by praying for them and forgiving them. Here at the point of a Roman spear, under the heel of all the power of empire, he shows his power by welcoming a thief into Paradise. In Martin Luther King, Jr.’s words, Jesus meets physical force with soul force. He meets Caesar’s power of violence with God’s power of love.
Here in church on Sundays we proclaim our faith with the Nicene Creed. But the very earliest creed, the way Christians proclaimed their faith in the first generation, was much shorter: “Jesus is Lord!” And “Lord” was a title with a double meaning, because Hebrews used it for God, and Romans used it for Caesar. So to call Jesus Lord was to acknowledge him as holding not only the power of God but also the power of Caesar. It was refusing to worship the emperor that sent generations of Christians to a martyr’s death, because for them Jesus was Lord, and Caesar was not.
And again through the centuries it’s been the same. In the early 1800s a young enslaved woman named Isabella found Jesus and took on a new name: Sojourner Truth. Her preaching galvanized the abolitionist movement because for her Jesus was Master, and the white man was not. In the 1940s in Nazi Germany a Lutheran pastor named Dietrich Bonhoeffer helped found the underground Confessing Church and was executed for plotting against Hitler. For him Jesus was Führer and Hitler was not. In 1977 Janani Luwum, the Archbishop of Uganda, stood up against the disappearances and killings of the dictator Idi Amin. For him Jesus was president and Amin was not.
There are countless others. People whose obedience to Jesus has led them to renounce the world’s kind of power. Sometimes they have suffered for their faith. Sometimes they have died. But whatever you call their witness and the changes it has brought to the world, it sure isn’t weakness. It’s a power that goes beyond the power of coercion. It’s a power grounded in the cross of Christ—and in his resurrection.
I read a line once in the newsletter of the Open Door Community, an intentional community in Atlanta dedicated to serving people on the streets. It said, “If Jesus Christ were the king of the universe, [a] toilet brush would be his scepter.”[1] And in fact Jesus Christ is the king of the universe—and he shows us what real power is. It’s the power to scrub a toilet so your neighbors can have a clean and dignified place to pee. It’s the power to kneel down and wash the feet of your friends. It’s the power to forgive from the cross.
This is the mystery at the heart of the universe: that the One who is all power and authority has chosen to be counted once and for all on the side of those who have none. And that is power indeed.
[1] Jeff Dietrich, “25 Years of Discipleship: Follow the Women,” Hospitality, October 2006, pg. 2. Available online at http://www.opendoorcommunity.org/HospOct06.pdf.
Psalm 46
Colossians 1:11-20
Luke 23:33-43
+ + +
“If you are.” “If you are.” “If you are.”
That’s what Jesus hears over and over as he hangs there. “If you are the King of the Jews, come down!” “If you are the chosen one, save yourself!” “If you are the Messiah, save yourself and us!”
And it’s as if his story has come full circle, back to the beginning, after his baptism when he went out into the desert and faced his first test, when Satan tempted him with almost the very same words. “If you are the Son of God. . . .” Turn these stones into bread, to feed your hunger. Bow down to me, and become king of the world. Leap from the temple, and test the Lord your God.
In the beginning just as in the end, the temptation is the same. To misuse his power. To turn his divine authority to his own ends.
Power corrupts, they say. And so often that’s true. From the corridors of Washington to the trading floors of Wall Street to the casting rooms of Hollywood. So many of our headlines and so many of the conflicts that are churning our society today are at heart about the misuse of power. It’s been that way back through the ages, in throne rooms and locker rooms and boardrooms, and in the halls of churches and cathedrals too, because religious power is one of the easiest forms of power to turn to evil.
Against that backdrop it’s no wonder conscientious people sometimes find it hard to talk about power, or admit they have power, or try to get power. It can feel as if power is just a code word for domination and exploitation. But power isn’t always a bad thing. Actually power is a good thing. Power is the ability to get things done. The capacity to make something happen. To change the world in some way. Like everything else in God’s good creation power can be used for good or for evil. We ascribe power to God every Sunday when we say “the kingdom, the power, and the glory are yours” and “Holy, holy, holy Lord, God of power and might.” And so the question is what kind of power are we talking about? Power to create, or power to destroy? Power to hurt, or power to heal? Power to enslave, or power to set free?
Here at the cross Jesus shows what Paul means when he writes that God’s power is made perfect in weakness. Jesus shows his power not by destroying his enemies but by praying for them and forgiving them. Here at the point of a Roman spear, under the heel of all the power of empire, he shows his power by welcoming a thief into Paradise. In Martin Luther King, Jr.’s words, Jesus meets physical force with soul force. He meets Caesar’s power of violence with God’s power of love.
Here in church on Sundays we proclaim our faith with the Nicene Creed. But the very earliest creed, the way Christians proclaimed their faith in the first generation, was much shorter: “Jesus is Lord!” And “Lord” was a title with a double meaning, because Hebrews used it for God, and Romans used it for Caesar. So to call Jesus Lord was to acknowledge him as holding not only the power of God but also the power of Caesar. It was refusing to worship the emperor that sent generations of Christians to a martyr’s death, because for them Jesus was Lord, and Caesar was not.
And again through the centuries it’s been the same. In the early 1800s a young enslaved woman named Isabella found Jesus and took on a new name: Sojourner Truth. Her preaching galvanized the abolitionist movement because for her Jesus was Master, and the white man was not. In the 1940s in Nazi Germany a Lutheran pastor named Dietrich Bonhoeffer helped found the underground Confessing Church and was executed for plotting against Hitler. For him Jesus was Führer and Hitler was not. In 1977 Janani Luwum, the Archbishop of Uganda, stood up against the disappearances and killings of the dictator Idi Amin. For him Jesus was president and Amin was not.
There are countless others. People whose obedience to Jesus has led them to renounce the world’s kind of power. Sometimes they have suffered for their faith. Sometimes they have died. But whatever you call their witness and the changes it has brought to the world, it sure isn’t weakness. It’s a power that goes beyond the power of coercion. It’s a power grounded in the cross of Christ—and in his resurrection.
I read a line once in the newsletter of the Open Door Community, an intentional community in Atlanta dedicated to serving people on the streets. It said, “If Jesus Christ were the king of the universe, [a] toilet brush would be his scepter.”[1] And in fact Jesus Christ is the king of the universe—and he shows us what real power is. It’s the power to scrub a toilet so your neighbors can have a clean and dignified place to pee. It’s the power to kneel down and wash the feet of your friends. It’s the power to forgive from the cross.
This is the mystery at the heart of the universe: that the One who is all power and authority has chosen to be counted once and for all on the side of those who have none. And that is power indeed.
[1] Jeff Dietrich, “25 Years of Discipleship: Follow the Women,” Hospitality, October 2006, pg. 2. Available online at http://www.opendoorcommunity.org/HospOct06.pdf.
Nov 17, 2019 |
Proper 28, Year C, Revised Common Lectionary
| Stephen Shaver
Proper 28, Year C, Revised Common Lectionary
Malachi 4:1-2a
Psalm 98
2 Thessalonians 3:6-13
Luke 21:5-19
+ + +
APOCALYPSE
There will be great earthquakes, and in various places famines and plagues; and there will be dreadful portents and great signs from heaven. Luke 21:11
We live in apocalyptic times. Let me explain what “apocalyptic” means. It is the opposite of the words of the song: “Don’t worry; be happy.”
Here’s a little song I wrote
You might want to sing it note for note.
Don’t worry, be happy
In every life we have some trouble
But when you worry you make it double. Don’t worry, be happy[1]
But we do worry because we are threatened by the coming of “the Four horsemen of the apocalypse,” which are disease and war, famine and death.[2] the gospels list the signs of tribulation as “great earthquakes, and in various places famines and plagues; and dreadful portents and great signs from heaven.”[3]
We don’t need reminding that we live in times of trouble. In Northern California alone in 2017, 245,000 acres burnt in the Tubbs and other fires, 8900 structures were destroyed and 44 people died. The following year, 150,000 acres were burnt in the Camp fire and 85 civilians died. This year, in the Kincade fire 77,000 acres burnt, 374 structures were lost but no fatalities. These are only some of the many fires throughout the state. Many of us know about sitting in darkness and about being evacuated from our homes.
One of the reasons for the fires is the growth of vegetation brought about by heavy rains. In 2017, the Russian River reached three feet above flood stage and washed away 500 homes. The El Niño of the winter of 1997–98 flooded the whole of the central valley.
Polar bears, Sea turtles, reefs are at risk because of climate change. October 2019 was the hottest month worldwide on record. Monthly temperatures average about 2F above average. Glaciers are gone and sea levels are rising.
I checked out an earthquake map and saw that the Rodgers Fault lies to the east of us here, running north-west between the Calvary Catholic Cemetery at the end of Farmers Lane and the Rural Cemetery on Franklin Avenue. Earthquakes are an ever-present danger.
We have had any number of epidemics: AIDS, Ebola, Mad Cow Disease, H1N1 flu, Legionnaires Disease, West Nile Disease and SARS; quite apart from the common diseases of cancer, cholera, influenza and now measles among those who resist vaccinations.
No longer do we fear being the victims of a terrorist attack. More likely now is the danger from a shooter who should not be in the possession of an assault weapon with a bump stock. On October 1, just over 2 years ago, a shooter in Las Vegas shot 1100 rounds in 10 minutes killing 58 concert-goers and wounding many others.
These are some of the apocalyptic catastrophes that we face in our own day. There have been plenty in ages past. Apocalyptic literature was designed to meet the challenges of these disastrous times. We heard part of the Little Apocalypse from St. Luke’s Gospel (chapter 21) this morning. There are similar passages in the other gospels. The purpose of this literature was to bring encouragement to the suffering during times of persecution. Thus the Book of Daniel was written during the persecution of Antiochus Epiphanes (who reigned 175-164 BC) and the Book of Revelation from the time of the Emperor Domitian (81-96 AD). The devastation was predicted in advance. Note how the gospels project the suffering into the future. “not one stone will be left upon another,” “there will be earthquakes, famines and plagues,” “they will arrest you and persecute you.”
It is necessary for all these things to happen “first, but the end will come.” (the τέλος meaning the consummation, the closure; not the ἔσχατον from which we get the word Eschatology, “the study of last things”). The apocalypses in the gospels conclude with this hope: “Then you will see ‘the Son of Man coming in a cloud’ with power and great glory. When these things begin to take place, stand up and raise your heads, because your redemption is drawing near.”[4]
In testing times we need to remember that we are not abandoned by God. “He watching over Israel slumbers not nor sleeps.”[5] We belong within the communion of the faithful including the saints, many of whom were martyred in times of persecution. Within that community we belong to this congregation where we are known, loved and prayed for. Here we hear scriptures which we read, mark, learn and inwardly digest so that we may hold fast the blessed hope of everlasting life”[6] and we hear them interpreted in the sermon. While we were powerless in October we came here to recharge our batteries (both physical and spiritual). So it makes sense to support this congregation in whatever ways we can. Not only for what it provides for us, but also for what it provides for those less fortunate than ourselves.
Among the great cloud of witnesses who surround of us is my patron, St. Hugh (1135-1200) who was Bishop of Lincoln towards of the 12th century. Today (November 17) is his feast day. Perhaps few will have heard of him. After Becket he was the most popular saint in Medieval England. He was happily ensconced in a Carthusian monastery in Avalon in Eastern France when he got the call. He really did not want to go to England: first because the climate was so abysmal (not to mention the food!) and second because it was ruled by Henry II, a violent man who was responsible for the martyrdom of Thomas a Becket in Canterbury Cathedral (Christmas 1170). Henry had made an outburst, “will no one rid me of this turbulent priest?”[7] As a penance he was required to found a number of monasteries, including one in Somerset. Hugh was sent to supervise and when they had no money, he told the king he had to pay up.
Hugh offended Henry by excommunicating one of Henry’s deputy assistants and for refusing to accept Henry’s nominee for a position in his cathedral. He was dicing with death from an unpredictable monarch. He met Henry in a forest, and Henry tried to bully him with silent treatment. But Hugh was a Carthusian who loved silence and began to pray. After awhile Henry gave up and began to laugh. Hugh was charming with a great sense of humor. Three kings and three archbishops were the pallbearers at his funeral.
Those times were no less terrifying than today. We need to see them as a overture to the glory that is to come So let us look up and watch out for the deliverance which is to come.
[1] Don’t worry, be happy, sung by Bobby McFerrin (1988) and covered by many others
[2] Listed by St. John the Divine in the book of Revelation 6:1-8
[3] Luke 21:11
[4] Luke 21:27f and //s
[5] Psalm 121:4. One of the great choruses in Mendelssohn’s Elijah
[6] The penultimate Sunday of the Church’s year is “Bible Sunday (from the collect of the day, BCP p.236, Proper 28)
[7] Quoted by James Comey when he appeared before the Senate Intelligence Committee in June 2017. With a smile Sen. Angus King of Maine said he was about to say the same thing.
Psalm 98
2 Thessalonians 3:6-13
Luke 21:5-19
+ + +
APOCALYPSE
There will be great earthquakes, and in various places famines and plagues; and there will be dreadful portents and great signs from heaven. Luke 21:11
We live in apocalyptic times. Let me explain what “apocalyptic” means. It is the opposite of the words of the song: “Don’t worry; be happy.”
Here’s a little song I wrote
You might want to sing it note for note.
Don’t worry, be happy
In every life we have some trouble
But when you worry you make it double. Don’t worry, be happy[1]
But we do worry because we are threatened by the coming of “the Four horsemen of the apocalypse,” which are disease and war, famine and death.[2] the gospels list the signs of tribulation as “great earthquakes, and in various places famines and plagues; and dreadful portents and great signs from heaven.”[3]
We don’t need reminding that we live in times of trouble. In Northern California alone in 2017, 245,000 acres burnt in the Tubbs and other fires, 8900 structures were destroyed and 44 people died. The following year, 150,000 acres were burnt in the Camp fire and 85 civilians died. This year, in the Kincade fire 77,000 acres burnt, 374 structures were lost but no fatalities. These are only some of the many fires throughout the state. Many of us know about sitting in darkness and about being evacuated from our homes.
One of the reasons for the fires is the growth of vegetation brought about by heavy rains. In 2017, the Russian River reached three feet above flood stage and washed away 500 homes. The El Niño of the winter of 1997–98 flooded the whole of the central valley.
Polar bears, Sea turtles, reefs are at risk because of climate change. October 2019 was the hottest month worldwide on record. Monthly temperatures average about 2F above average. Glaciers are gone and sea levels are rising.
I checked out an earthquake map and saw that the Rodgers Fault lies to the east of us here, running north-west between the Calvary Catholic Cemetery at the end of Farmers Lane and the Rural Cemetery on Franklin Avenue. Earthquakes are an ever-present danger.
We have had any number of epidemics: AIDS, Ebola, Mad Cow Disease, H1N1 flu, Legionnaires Disease, West Nile Disease and SARS; quite apart from the common diseases of cancer, cholera, influenza and now measles among those who resist vaccinations.
No longer do we fear being the victims of a terrorist attack. More likely now is the danger from a shooter who should not be in the possession of an assault weapon with a bump stock. On October 1, just over 2 years ago, a shooter in Las Vegas shot 1100 rounds in 10 minutes killing 58 concert-goers and wounding many others.
These are some of the apocalyptic catastrophes that we face in our own day. There have been plenty in ages past. Apocalyptic literature was designed to meet the challenges of these disastrous times. We heard part of the Little Apocalypse from St. Luke’s Gospel (chapter 21) this morning. There are similar passages in the other gospels. The purpose of this literature was to bring encouragement to the suffering during times of persecution. Thus the Book of Daniel was written during the persecution of Antiochus Epiphanes (who reigned 175-164 BC) and the Book of Revelation from the time of the Emperor Domitian (81-96 AD). The devastation was predicted in advance. Note how the gospels project the suffering into the future. “not one stone will be left upon another,” “there will be earthquakes, famines and plagues,” “they will arrest you and persecute you.”
It is necessary for all these things to happen “first, but the end will come.” (the τέλος meaning the consummation, the closure; not the ἔσχατον from which we get the word Eschatology, “the study of last things”). The apocalypses in the gospels conclude with this hope: “Then you will see ‘the Son of Man coming in a cloud’ with power and great glory. When these things begin to take place, stand up and raise your heads, because your redemption is drawing near.”[4]
In testing times we need to remember that we are not abandoned by God. “He watching over Israel slumbers not nor sleeps.”[5] We belong within the communion of the faithful including the saints, many of whom were martyred in times of persecution. Within that community we belong to this congregation where we are known, loved and prayed for. Here we hear scriptures which we read, mark, learn and inwardly digest so that we may hold fast the blessed hope of everlasting life”[6] and we hear them interpreted in the sermon. While we were powerless in October we came here to recharge our batteries (both physical and spiritual). So it makes sense to support this congregation in whatever ways we can. Not only for what it provides for us, but also for what it provides for those less fortunate than ourselves.
Among the great cloud of witnesses who surround of us is my patron, St. Hugh (1135-1200) who was Bishop of Lincoln towards of the 12th century. Today (November 17) is his feast day. Perhaps few will have heard of him. After Becket he was the most popular saint in Medieval England. He was happily ensconced in a Carthusian monastery in Avalon in Eastern France when he got the call. He really did not want to go to England: first because the climate was so abysmal (not to mention the food!) and second because it was ruled by Henry II, a violent man who was responsible for the martyrdom of Thomas a Becket in Canterbury Cathedral (Christmas 1170). Henry had made an outburst, “will no one rid me of this turbulent priest?”[7] As a penance he was required to found a number of monasteries, including one in Somerset. Hugh was sent to supervise and when they had no money, he told the king he had to pay up.
Hugh offended Henry by excommunicating one of Henry’s deputy assistants and for refusing to accept Henry’s nominee for a position in his cathedral. He was dicing with death from an unpredictable monarch. He met Henry in a forest, and Henry tried to bully him with silent treatment. But Hugh was a Carthusian who loved silence and began to pray. After awhile Henry gave up and began to laugh. Hugh was charming with a great sense of humor. Three kings and three archbishops were the pallbearers at his funeral.
Those times were no less terrifying than today. We need to see them as a overture to the glory that is to come So let us look up and watch out for the deliverance which is to come.
[1] Don’t worry, be happy, sung by Bobby McFerrin (1988) and covered by many others
[2] Listed by St. John the Divine in the book of Revelation 6:1-8
[3] Luke 21:11
[4] Luke 21:27f and //s
[5] Psalm 121:4. One of the great choruses in Mendelssohn’s Elijah
[6] The penultimate Sunday of the Church’s year is “Bible Sunday (from the collect of the day, BCP p.236, Proper 28)
[7] Quoted by James Comey when he appeared before the Senate Intelligence Committee in June 2017. With a smile Sen. Angus King of Maine said he was about to say the same thing.
