As I was straightening up the nave before Mass yesterday morning I came across this little ditty some poet in the parish wrote.

1 Advent

 

November 27, 2022

 

1 Corinthians 1.3-9; Mark 13.24-37

+ In case you haven’t noticed, it is the first Sunday of Advent.

It is a beautiful time in the Church, and here at St. Stephen’s.

This morning, we have the beautiful blue frontal on the altar made by Gin Templeton.

Deacon John and I get to wear the beautiful blue vestments.

We have the first candle lit on the Advent wreath.

It is a time in which we, as the Church, turn our attention, just like the rest of the world, toward Christmas.

But…we need to be clear: it is not Christmas yet for us Christians.

Christmas starts on Christmas eve, on the evening of December 24.

For now, we are in this almost limbo-like season of Advent.

All the major Church feast days—namely Christmas and Easter—are preceded by a time of preparation.

Before Easter, we go through the season of Lent—a time for us to collect our thoughts, prepare spiritually for the glorious mystery of the Resurrection.

Advent of course is similar.

We go through Advent as a way of preparing, spiritually,  for Christmas, for the birth of Jesus.

What a lot of people don’t realize is that Advent is as much of a penitential time—a time in which we should spend time fasting and pondering about our place in life—as Lent is, to some extent.

In this way, I think the Church year reflects our own lives in many ways.

In our lives, we go through periods of fasting and feasting.

We have our lean times and we have our prosperous times.

There is a balance to our lives in the world and there is a balance, as well, to our church lives.

We will feast—as we do on Christmas and on Easter—but first we must fast, as we do during Advent and Lent.

Do you ever notice how, when you know you’re going out to eat with friends at a nice restaurant, you cut back on your food during the day?

You maybe eat a little less at breakfast and only a very light lunch.

Or if you’re like me, you just don’t eat at all.

I don’t eat breakfast.

And I only eat lunch when I go out to lunch with someone.

You avoid snacking between meals, just so you can truly enjoy the supper that night (even if you are a bit lightheaded) .

That is what Advent is like.

We know this joyous event is coming, but to truly enjoy it, we need to hold back a bit now.

Advent then is also this time of deep anticipation.

And in that way, I think is represents our own spiritual lives in a way other times of the church year don’t.

We are, after all, a people anticipating something.

Something.

But what?

Well, our scriptures give us a clue.

But what they talk about isn’t something that we should necessarily welcome with joy.

In our reading form Isaiah this morning, we find the prophet saying to God,

O that you would tear open the heavens and come down,
so that the mountains would quake at your presence--

as when fire kindles brushwood
and the fire causes water to boil--

to make your name known to your adversaries,
so that the nations might tremble at your presence!

That doesn’t sound like a pleasant day to be anticipating.

Even Jesus, echoing Isaiah, says in our Gospel reading:

 In those days, after that suffering,

the sun will be darkened,
and the moon will not give its light,

and the stars will be falling from heaven,
and the powers in the heavens will be shaken.

 

Then they will see “the Son of Man coming in clouds” with great power and glory. 

Well, that’s maybe a bit better, but it’s still pretty foreboding.

However, it doesn’t need to be all that foreboding.

Essentially, all of this is talk about “the day of the Lord” or the day when the Son of Man will come in the clouds” is really  all about waiting for God, or for God’s Messiah.

It is all about God breaking through to us.

That is what Advent is all about.

God breaking through to us.

God coming to us where are we are.

God cutting through the darkness of our lives, with a glorious light.

For the Jews before Jesus’ time, waiting like we are, for the Messiah, they had specific ideas of what this Messiah would do.

Oppressed as they were by a foreign government—the Romans—with an even more foreign religion—paganism—, they expected someone like themselves to come to them and take up a sword.

This Messiah would drive away these foreign influences and allow them, as a people, to rise up and gain their rightful place.

And for those hearing the prophet Isaiah, the God who came in glory on that day would strike down the sinful, but also raise up those who were sorry.

The fact is, as we all know by now,  God doesn’t work according to our human plans.

God isn’t Santa Claus.

We can’t control God or make God do what we want.

And if we try, let me tell you, we are deeply disappointed.

The Messiah that came to the people of Jesus’ day—and to us—was no solider.

There was no sword in his hand.

The “Son of Man” that came to them—and to us--was a baby, a child who was destined to suffer, just as we suffer to some extent, and to die, as we all must die.

But, what we are reminded of is that God’s Messiah will come again.

It is about what happened then, and what will happen.

This time of Advent is a time of attentiveness to the past, the present, and the future.

Attentiveness is the key word.

Actually, in our Gospel reading for today, we get a different way of stating it.

 

We get a kind of verbal alarm clock.

 

And we hear it in two different ways:

 

“Keep alert.”

 

“Keep awake.”

 

Jesus says it just those two ways in our reading from Mark: It seems simple enough.

 

“Keep alert” and “keep awake.”

 

Or to put it more bluntly, “Wake up!”

 

But is it simple?

 

Our job as Christians is sometimes no more than this.

 

It is simply a matter of staying awake, of being attentive or being alert, of not being lazy.

 

Our lives as Christians are sometimes simply responses to being spiritually alert.

 

For those of us who are tired, who are worn down by life, who spiritually or emotionally fatigued, our sluggishness sometimes manifests itself in our spiritual life and in our relationship with others.

 

When we become impatient in our watching, we sometimes forget what it is we are watching for.

 

We sometimes, in our fatigue, fail to see.

 

For us, that “something” that we are waiting for, that we keeping alert for, is none other than that glorious “day of our Lord Jesus Christ,” that we hear St. Paul talk about in his epistle this morning.

 

That glorious day of God breaking through to us comes when, in our attentiveness, we see the rays of the light breaking through to us in our tiredness and in our fatigue.

 

It breaks through to us in various ways.

 

We, who are in this sometimes foggy present moment, peering forward, sometimes have this moments of wonderful spiritual clarity.

 

Those moments are truly being alert—of being spiritually awake.

 

Sometimes we have it right here, in church, when we gather together.

 

I have shared with each of you at times when those moments sometimes come to me.

 

There are those moments when we can say, without a doubt: Yes, God exists!

 

But, more than that.

 

It is the moments when we say, God is real.

 

God is near.

 

God knows me.

 

God loves me.

 

And, in that wonderful moment, in that holy moment, the world about us blossoms!

 

This is what it means to be awake, to not be lazy.

 

See, the day the prophet talks about as a day of fear and trembling is only a day of fear and trembling if we aren’t awake.

 

For those of us who are awake, who truly see with our spiritual eyes, it is a glorious day.

 

For us, we see that God is our Parent.

 

Or as Isaiah says,

 

 O Lord, you are our Father;

 

 

We are God’s fully loved and fully accepted children.

 

And then Isaiah goes on to say that

 

we are the clay, and you are our potter; 
we are all the work of your hand.

 

 

Certainly, in a very real sense, today—this First Sunday of Advent— is a day in which we realize this fact.

 

Advent is a time for us to allow God to form us and make us in God’s image.

 

It is a time for us to maybe be kneaded and squeezed, but, through it all, we are being formed into something beautiful.

 

The rays of that glorious day when God breaks through to us is a glorious day!

 

And it is a day in which we realize we are all God’s loved and accepted children.

 

In this beautiful Sarum blue Advent season, we are reminded that the day of God’s reaching out to us is truly about dawn upon us.

 

The rays of the bright sun-lit dawn are already starting to lighten the darkness of our lives.

 

We realize, in this moment, that, despite all that has happened, despite the disappointments, despite the losses, despite the pain each of us has had to bear, the ray of that glorious Light breaks through to us in that darkness and somehow, makes it all better.

 

But this is doesn’t happen in an instant.

 

Oftentimes that light is a gradual dawning in our lives.

 

Oftentimes, it happens gradually so we can adjust to it, so it doesn’t blind us.

 

Sometimes, our awakening is in stages, as though waking from a deep, slumbering sleep.

 

Our job as Christians is somewhat basic.

 

I’m not saying it’s easy.

 

But I am saying that it is basic.

 

Our job, as Christians, especially in this Advent time, is to be alert.

 

To be awake.

 

Spiritually and emotionally.

 

And, in being alert, we must see clearly.

 

We cannot, when that Day of Christ dawns, be found to lazy and sloughing.

 

Rather, when that Day of our Lord Jesus dawns, we should greet it joyfully, with bright eyes and a clear mind.

 

We should run toward that dawn as we never have before in our lives.

 

We should let the joy within us—the joy we have hid, we have tried to kill—the joy we have not allowed ourselves to feel—come pouring forth on that glorious day.

 

And in that moment, all those miserable things we have been dealt—all that loss, all that failure, all that unfairness—will dissipate like a bad dream on awakening.

 

“Keep alert,” Jesus says to us.

 

“Keep awake.”

 

Wake up!

 

It’s almost time.

 

Keep awake because that “something” you have been longing for all your spiritual life is about to happen.

 

It is about to break through into our lives.

 

And it is going to be glorious.

 

Let us pray.

 

O God of glory, we are longing for you in the darkness of our lives to break through to us; to come to us in this place and shed your Light upon us. And we know that when you do, it will truly be a glorious Day. We ask this in the name of your Messiah, Jesus our Savior. Amen.

 Happy Thanksgiving from your favorite vegan priest-poet friend.

Christ in Majesty/Last Pentecost

November 20, 2022

 

Jeremiah  23.1-8; Luke 23.33-43

 

+ Today is, of course, Christ the King Sunday.

 

Or Christ in Majesty Sunday for those of us who are more inclusive in our language.

 

And it is one of the truly beautiful Sundays of the year.

 

Everybody loves this Sunday.

 

We love it because it the last Sunday of the old Church year (Year C)  before the Season of Advent and the New Church Year (Year A) begins next Sunday.

 

But… as beautiful as this day is, it is not quite what you think it is.

 

First of all, this Day is not an Episcopal Feast at all.

 

In fact, if you look, you will not find the words “Christ the King” designated for this Sunday or any other Sunday in our Episcopal calendar.

 

You can’t find it in the BCP outside of the reference to Christ the King in the collect and in the lectionary’s choice of scriptures for today. .

 

It sounds like it’s an ancient feast.

 

But, it’s not.

 

It’s not even 100 years old yet.

 

The Feast of Christ the King was first introduced to the Roman Catholic Church by Pope Pius XI in 1925.

 

And his reasons for doing so were not necessarily pious.

 

His reasons for introducing this feast had to do with a situation that we are ourselves have dealt and may be dealing with again.

 

It’s that ugly called FASCISM.

 

And just as it was 100 years ago, it is still an issue now.

 

For Pope Pius XI it was a way of countering the nationalist fascism of Benito Mussolini.

 

It was a clear rebuke of Mussolini.

 

It was a statement making clear that as much as leaders in this world want desperately to hold absolute power, there is only one ruler that we as Christians hold up as our true leader.

 

And that the leaders of this world, who naively think they can gain and maintain absolute power, will fail, and fail miserably.

 

They will lose.

 

But before we move on from that, some people really don’t quite know what fascism is specifically.

 

So, let’s ask Google.

 

There, it is defined as

Fascism a far-right, authoritarian,  ultranationalist political ideology and movement, characterized by a dictatorial leader, centralized autocracy, militarism, forcible suppression of opposition, belief in a natural hierarchy, subordination of individual interests for the perceived good of the nation and race, and strong regimentation of society and the economy

 

It characterized by racism and oppression.

 

Any of this sound familiar?

 

It is, to be blunt, anti-Jesus in everything is stands for.

 

And it is our duty, just like Pope Pius Xi, to stand up and speak out against it again and again.

 

Because it is when we are silent and complacent that fascism comes back.

 

If I despair over anything, I despair over the fact that here we are, in 2022, still preaching against fascism.

 

We fought a whole war in the 1940s so that fascism would be eliminated from this world.

 

And we have, in recent years, seen fascism make a come-back in the very country that fought it.

 

And, ironically, holds up those same people who fought as heroes of this neo-fascism.

 

But our scriptures today speak clearly to us about all of this.

 

In our reading from the Hebrew scriptures, we hear this:

 

The days are surely coming, says the Lord, when I will raise up for David a righteous Branch, and he shall reign as king and deal wisely, and shall execute justice and righteousness in the land.

 

And in our Gospel reading for today, we see the end-result of fascism.

 

He find Jesus beaten and abused and whipped and mockingly crowned as King of the Jews.

 

This is exactly how fascism has dealt with its enemies over and over again throughout history.

 

It silences, beats, whips and murders its opponents.

 

I also believe a priest should not share their politics from the pulpit because many people here came from churches and denominations that had clergy who got up and not only shared their political views, but even went so far as to tell people how they should vote.

 

And that, to me, is an absolutely terrible thing.

 

And just so no one would ever think that I would do that—and I would NEVER do that—I purposely try to avoid politics as much as possible/

 

The exception for me is when a politician crosses the line and starts advocating for things that oppose basic human rights or human equality.

 

And I have spoken out on those issues.

 

Many, many times.

 

And will continue to do so any time it happens.

 

Let’s face it: Jesus did so many, many times.

 

But to be clear fascism is not only present in politics.

 

We see it in the Church too.

 

After all, as you have heard me say again and again, the Church is not historically a democracy.

 

And we continue to see fascism in the Church as a whole.

 

We see it when people continue to be oppressed.

 

We see it when people continued to be shunned.

 

We see it when we say things like, “Well, we don’t need to work on reconciliation with LGBTQ people, because it’s a non-issue now.”

 

I would like to say to those people:  come here to St. Stephen’s and say that.

 

Say that to the queer people in this parish who have been hurt by the Church, even in this Diocese, who have been shunned and discarded.

 

Say that to the queer people here are still bleeding from the wounds that the Church and this Diocese has done to them in our not-so-distant past.

 

Or rather say this to the 4 people killed night at shooting in an LGBTQ club in Colorado Spring.

 

It is NOT a non-issue.

 

Let me tell you as the priest and pastor of those hurt and wounded people, people hurt and wounded by the words and actions of clergy and people in the Church and in this Diocese in the past, we most certainly need reconciliation.

 

We most certainly need things to be made right after the behavior of so many clergy and people who are still active, who are still in leadership positions, who still say these things and believe these things.

 

But today, on this particular Sunday, we deal, somewhat indirectly, with another kind of political and religious fascism.

 

Today, we recognize that no matter how terrible or how great a leader may be, there is one leader for us, as Christians, who is the ultimate Leader.

 

The King of Kings.

 

Advent, that time of preparation for Christmas, is about to happen.

 

The Season of Advent is, of course, the season of anticipation—of longing.

 

And dare I say, maybe a fair share of healthy impatience.

 

Maybe that’s why I like it so much.

 

I am an impatient person—as anyone who has worked with me for any period of time knows.

 

Certainly, we, as followers of Jesus, might get a bit impatient about that for which we are longing.

 

Our journey as followers of Jesus, is filled with anticipation and longing.

 

We know, as we make this journey through life, that there is an end to our journey.

 

We know there is a goal.

 

But we might not always be aware of what that goal is or even why we’re journeying toward it.

 

But today, Christ the King Sunday, we get just a little glimpse of that goal.

 

We get to get an idea of what it is we are anticipating.

 

The Christ we encounter this morning is coming to us on clouds, yes.

 

But he also comes to us while standing on the throne of the Cross—an about-to-be condemned criminal—engaging in a conversation with Pontius Pilate about who he is.

 

The Christ we encounter today is crowned, yes—but he is crowned with thorns.

 

This King we celebrate today—this King crowned as he is with a crown of thorns—he is the Ruler of all of us, no matter who the rulers on earth may be.

 

And because he is our ruler, in him whatever divisions—especially political and ecclesiastical divisions—are eliminated.  

 

After all, he too lived in a world of terror and fear, in a world of division, where fear and terror were daily realities in his life.

 

This is the Christ we encounter today.

 

The Christ we encounter today is Christ our majestic King, Christ our Priest, Christ our ultimate Ideal.

 

But he is also so much more than that.

 

He is also the one that some would also judge as Christ the Rebel, Christ the Misfit, Christ the Refugee, Christ the Failure.

 

And what the Rebel, the Misfit, the Refugee, the Failure shows us powerfully is that God even works through such manifestations.

 

God works through rebellion, through ostracization, through failure even.

 

And this is a very real part of our message on Christ the King Sunday.

 

In the midst of the brokenness of Christ, God is ultimately truly victorious.

 

And because of what God does in Christ we too, even despite our own brokenness, despite our own  rebelliousness, despite our own failures, we too will ultimately triumph in Christ.

 

The King we encounter on this Sunday, the King that awaits us at the end of our days, is not a fascist despotic king.

 

The King that we encounter today is not a King who rules with an iron fist and makes life under his reign oppressive.

 

This King is not some stern Judge, waiting to condemn us to hell for what we’ve done or not done or for who we are.

 

But at the same time the King we honor today is not a figurehead or a soft and ineffective ruler.

 

This is not a spineless chameleon of a leader.

 

Rather, the King we encounter today is truly the One we are following, the One who leads us and guides us and guards us.

 

This King does not allow us to have fear as an option in our lives.

 

This King eliminates our divisions.

 

The King we encounter today is the refugee, the misfit, the rebel, the outcast, the marginalized one, who has triumphed and who commands us to welcome and love all those who are marginalized and living with terror and fear in their own lives.

 

And his Kingdom, that we anticipate, is our ultimate home.

 

We are all—all of us, every single one of us, no matter who we are—, at this moment, we are citizens of that Kingdom of God, over which God has put the anointed One, the Christ.

 

That Kingdom is the place wherein each of us belongs, ultimately.

 

You have heard me say it in many, many sermons that our job as Christians, as followers of Jesus, is to make that Kingdom a reality.

 

You hear me often talking about the Kingdom breaking through into our midst.

 

That’s not just poetic talk from the pulpit.

 

It is something I believe in deeply.

 

The Kingdom—that place toward which we are all headed—is not only some far-off Land in some far-away sky we will eventually get to when we die.

 

It is a reality—right here, right now.

 

That Kingdom is the place which breaks into this world whenever we live out that command of Jesus to love God and to love one another.

 

When we act in love toward one another, the Kingdom of God is present among us.

 

Again, this is not some difficult theological concept to grasp.

 

It is simply something we do as followers of Jesus.

 

When we love, God’s true home is made here, with us, in the midst of our love.

 

A kingdom of harmony and peace and love becomes a reality when we sow seeds of harmony and peace and love.

 

And, in that moment when the Kingdom breaks through to us, here and now, we get to see what awaits us in our personal and collective End.

 

As we prepare for this END—and we should always be preparing for the END—we should rejoice in this King, who is the ruler of our true home.

 

And we should rejoice in the fact that, in the end, all of us will be received by that King into that Kingdom he promises to us, that we catch glimpses of, here in this place, when we act and serve each other out of love for one another.

 

The Kingdom is here, with us, right now.

 

It is here, in the love we share and in the ministries we do.

 

So, on this Christ the King Sunday, let us ponder the End, but let us remember that the End is not a terrible thing.

 

The End is, in fact, that very Kingdom that we have seen in our midst already.

 

For us the End is that Kingdom—a Kingdom wherein there is a King who rules out of love and concern for us.

 

And it is in our End that we truly do find our beginning.