Holy Cross

 

September 15, 2024

 

John 10: 11-16

 

+ This morning, we have the red on.

 

It’s on the altar.

 

Deacon John and I are in the red.

 

We usually put the red on for the Feast of Pentecost.

 

Or for the feast of a martyr.

 

But no, we’re not commemorating a martyr.

 

But, sadly, we are commemorating something not all that pleasant either.

 

This morning we are commemorating probably the one most important symbols of who we are as Christians.

 

We are commemorating the feast of the Holy Cross.

 

Actually, yesterday was the Feast of the Holy Cross.

 

But we transferred it to today.

 

We’r enot really supposed to do that.

 

But, my thinking is this: if we don’t, most everyone will miss this important feast, since we don’t have a Mass on Saturday here.

 

This isn’t the first time we’ve transferred a feast like this.

 

The last time it happened, someone scolded me on Facebook, referencing a priest who is somewhat well-known on Episcopal social media, who in a post went on and on and on about how clergy who transfer a feast like this are in danger of violating their ordination vows.

 

Clergy, of course, promise to confirm to the doctrine, discipline and worship of the Episcopal Church.

 

So, according to this priest’s argument, any clergy who transfer the feast is in violation of rubrics (those italicized instructions we find in the book of Common Prayer)  which, as we all know, must be faithfully followed to the letter since they are obviously commandments from God on high.

 

(They are NOT).

 

The priest referenced was actually someone I once knew and actually admired at one time.

 

But a few years ago he decided to cull his expansive Facebook friends list and. . .well. . .guess who didn’t make the cut (though about 200 of our mutual friends did)

 

I responded to the person who referenced this priest by saying that if I wasn’t good enough to be this priest’s Facebook friend any more, his opinion on this issue meant nothing to me.

 

Besides, I went on, he wasn’t my bishop—or anyone else’s for that matter, though it seems anytime there’s a bishop’s search in the Church, this guy’s name appears on the list.

 

So, I really don’t care what that priest thinks about this or any other issue.

 

But. . .you all get to benefit from your heretical priest’s flagrant “breaking” his ordination vows. . .though, who knows? I may get defrocked for it.

 

The late , great Father John-Julian of the Episcopal religious order, the Order of Julian or Norwich, wrote about this very important feast in his wonderful book, Stars in a Dark World, which we occasionally use at our Wednesday evening Eucharist. .

 

He writes:

 

“It is noteworthy, I think, to see that the Church celebrate the Exaltation of the Holy Cross not with the penitential purple of Lent or the mortal black of Good Friday, but with the brilliant passion red of celebration and honor! And the propers of this feast do not dwell on the bloody death of Christ but on rather upon the wonder of the utterly holy [instrument], because the executioner’s instrument has been exalted as the means of the salvation of the world. The salvic resurrection of Christ transformed the gross and ugly Cross of death into the most enduring symbol of life and hope.”

 

Now, we probably don’t really think about the Cross as an object too often.

 

We find of take it for granted.

 

We see it every Sunday.

 

We see the cross on the churches we pass every day.

 

We probably wear the cross around our necks or hang it on the walls of our homes.

 

For us, of course, the Cross is more than just two pieces of wood bound together.

 

For us the Cross is our symbol.

And more than that.

 

We have essentially been branded with the cross.

 

Each of us were marked by the Cross in our baptism.

 

And as a result, it is ingrained into our very souls.

 

And we have been told by the One we follow that to truly follow him, we must take up our own cross.

 

Again, not pleasant to do.

 

But it is essential.

 

Look at how deceptively simple it is.

 

It’s simply two pieces, bound together.

 

For someone who knows nothing about Christianity, for someone who knows nothing about the story, it’s a symbol they might not think much about.

 

And yet the Cross is more than just another symbol in our lives.

 

The Cross is what truly defines as Christians.

 

We are followers of Jesus.

 

And to be a follower of Jesus means to follow him not only in the nice, sweet times of life.

 

But it also means following him to the very  darkest shadows of Golgotha.

 

And like him, following him, we too need to take up our crosses.

 

The Cross is what gives our faith its very essence.

 

The Cross, as much as it defines us, as much as it is symbol of our faith, is also, sadly, an instrument of torture and death.

 

To take up a cross means to take up a burden that we must bear, even though we don’t really want it.

 

To take it up is torturous.

 

It hurts to take up the Cross.

 

When we think of that last journey Jesus took to the place of the skull, carrying that heavy tree on which he is going to be murdered, it must’ve been more horrible than we can even begin to imagine.

 

And, without the resurrection, it would have been.

 

But the fact is, what Jesus is saying to us is: carry your cross now.

Carry your burden—whatever issues you have in this life--with dignity and inner strength.

 

Because if you carry you cross, then you are truly following Jesus.

 

By carrying our cross, we are following Jesus to the place he leads.

 

That place, is of course, the joy of Resurrection and Life.

 

That place is our eternity with the God of Jesus.

 

But the road there leads first through the place of the skull.

 

To face this reality, we find ourselves facing our fear of pain and death.

 

We sometimes allow ourselves to slip deeply into fear and despair in our lives.

 

As we all know, fear can be crippling.

 

It can devastate us and drive us to despair.

 

But, as Father John-Julian says,

 

“In a sense, the Cross underwent the first transformation of the Resurrection; and that same transformation has been part of the salvation offered by the Crucified and Resurrected One. Pain and death became resurrection and exaltation—and that has never changed. The sign of the Christian’s salvation is not some giddy, mindless, low-cost bliss, but rather an entry into the deeper parts of the reality of pain and death [and I would add, fear], soaked, as was the Holy Cross, with the blood of sacrifice and finally emerged, brought by God on the other side, resurrected, exalted whole, and in heaven.”

 

If we take the crosses we’ve been given to bear in this life and embrace them, rather than running away from them, we find that fear has no control over us.

 

The Cross destroys fear and pain and death.

 

The Cross shatters pain and death into a million pieces.

 

And when we do fear, we know we have a place to go to for shelter.

 

When fear encroaches into our lives—when fear comes riding roughshod through our lives—all we have to do is go to the Cross and embrace it.

 

And there, we will find our fears destroyed.

 

Because of the Cross, we are taken care of.

 

Because of the Cross, we know, all will be well.

 

The cross Jesus asks us to bear is not a frightening and terrible thing.

 

It was, at one time.

 

It was a symbol of defeat and death and pain and torture.

 

It was, for the people of Jesus’s day, what the electric chair or the hangman’s noose or even the lethal injection table is to us this day.

 

It was, for the people of Jesus’s day, a symbol of ultimate defeat.

 

On it, hung criminals.

 

On it, hung those who, by society’s standards, deserved to hang there.

 

On it hung the blasphemer, the heretic, the agitator.

 

But now, for us, it is a symbol of strength and joy and unending eternal life.

 

Through it, we know, we must pass to find true and unending life.

 

Through the Cross, we must pass to find ourselves, once and for all time, face-to-face with God. 

 

It is a reminder to us that God, in the end, always, always, always brings victory out of what seems like defeat.

 

God always turns around what seems like something terrible and transforms it into something life-affirming.

 

So, let us notice of this great symbol in our lives.

 

As we drive along, let us truly notice the crosses on the churches we pass.

 

Let us notice all the crosses that surround us.

 

When we see the Cross, let us remember what it means to us.

 

Look to it for what it is: a symbol of the power of God to overcome terror and death.

 

Let us look at the Cross and, when we see it, let us see it for what it truly is: a triumph over every single fear in our lives.

 

And more importantly, let us continue to bear those crosses of our life patiently and without fear.

 

If we do, we too will be following the way of Jesus, and that Way doesn’t end at the Cross.

 

Rather the Way of Life unending, Life Everlasting, really and truly begins at the Cross.

 

Dedication Sunday

 

September 8, 2024

1 Kings 8:22-23,27b-30;

+ Today, we are celebrating our Dedication Sunday.

 We are commemorating 68 years of service to God and others.

 We are blessing backpacks.

 We are retiring our 100 year old processional cross.

 We are welcoming new members.

 It’s all very exciting.

 And I especially love our scripture readings for today.

 I love all this talk of a building being God’s house.

 I think we sometimes forget that fact.

 We forget that this is God’s house.

 God, in a very unique ways, dwells with us here.

 But this is Sunday is more than all these physical things.

 It is about than just a building, and walls.

 It about us being the House of God.

 It is about us being the tabernacles in which God dwells.

 It is about us and our service to God and others.

 And you know what it’s really all about.

 It is about LOVE. 

 Yup, it’s gonna be another love sermon.

 Years ago, I read an amazing biography of the American poet Denise Levertov, I came across this wonderful quote, from another poet, St. John the Cross:

 “In the evening of our lives, we will be judged on love alone.”

 Later I heard a friend of mine comment on that quote by saying

  “we will be judged BY love alone.”

 I love that!

 That quote has been haunting me for years.

 And it certainly has been striking me to my core in these days leading up to our Dedication Sunday celebration.

 If this congregation could have a motto for itself, it would be this.

 “In the evening of our lives, we will be judged by love alone.”

 Because this, throughout all of our 68 year history, is what we are known for at St. Stephen’s.

 Love.

 We are known for the fact that we know, by our words, by our actions, by our faith in God and one another, that it is love that makes the difference.

 And by love we will, ultimately, be judged.

 That’s what the Church—that larger Church—capital “C” Church— should be.

But sometimes we forget what the Church should be.

This morning, there are many people here who have been wounded by that Church—the larger Church.

I stand before you, having been hurt be the larger Church on more than one occasion.

And for those of us who are here, with our wounds still bleeding, it is not an easy thing to keep coming back to church sometimes.

It is not any easy thing to be a part of that Church again.

It is not an easy thing to call one’s self a Christian again, especially now when it seems so many people have essentially highjacked that name and made it into something ugly and terrible.

 And, speaking for myself, it’s not easy to be a priest—a uniform-wearing representative of that human-run organization that so often forgets about love being its main purpose.

 But, we, here at St. Stephen’s, are obviously doing something right, to make better the wrongs that may have been done on a larger scale.

 We, at St. Stephen’s, (I hope) have done a good job I think over these last 68 years of striving to be a positive example of the wider Church and of service to Christ who, according to Peter’s letter this morning, truly is a “living stone”—the solid foundation from which we grow.

 We have truly become a place of love, of radical acceptance.

 As God intends the Church to be.

In these last 68 years, this congregation has done some amazing things.

It has been first and foremost in the acceptance of women in leadership, when women weren’t in leadership.

It was first and foremost in the acceptance of LGBTQ people, when few churches would acknowledge them, much less welcome them and fully include them. 

Certainly in the last few years,  certainly St. Stephen’s has done something not many Episcopal Churches are doing.

It has grown.

And that alone is something we should be very grateful to God for on this Dedication Sunday.

Seeing all this we need to give the credit where the credit is truly due:

the Holy Spirit.

Here.

Among us.

In our reading from First Kings today, we hear Solomon echoing God’s words, “My name shall be there.”

God’s Name dwells here.

As we look around, we too realize that this is truly the home of God.

We too are able to exclaim, God’s name dwells here!

And, as I said at the beginning of my sermon, by “the home of God”  I don’t mean just this building.

After all—God is truly here, with us, in all that we do together.

The name of God is proclaimed in the ministries we do here.

In the outreach we do.

In the witness we make in the community of Farg0-Moorhead and in the wider Church.

God is here, with us.

God is working through us and in us.

Sometimes, when we are in the midst of it all, when we are doing the work, we sometimes miss that perspective.

We miss that sense of holiness and renewal and life that comes bubbling up from a healthy and vital congregation working together.

We miss the fact that God truly is here.

So, it is good to stop and listen for a moment.

It is good to reorient ourselves.

It is good to refocus and see what ways we can move forward together.

It is good to look around and see how God is working through us.

In a few moments, we will recognize and give thanks for now only our new members but for all our members and the many ministries of this church.

Many of the ministries that happen here at St. Stephen’s go on clandestinely.

They go on behind the scenes, in ways most of us (with exception of God) don’t even see and recognize.

But that is how God works as well.

God works oftentimes clandestinely, through us and around us.

This morning, however, we are seeing very clearly the ways in which God works not so clandestinely.

We see it in here at St. Stephen’s.

We see it in the vitality here.

We see it in the love here.

We see it in the tangible things, in our altar, in the bread and wine of the Eucharist, in our scripture readings, in our windows, in the smell of incense in the air, in our service to9ward each other toward others.

In US.

But behind all these incredible things happening now, God has also worked slowly and deliberately and seemingly clandestinely throughout the years.

And for all of this—the past, the present and the future—we are truly thankful.

God truly is in this place.

This is truly the house of God.

WE truly are the house of God.

This is the place in which love is proclaimed and acted out.

So, let us rejoice.

Let us rejoice in where we have been.

Let us rejoice in where we are.

Let us rejoice in where we are going.

And, in our rejoicing, let us truly be God’s own people.

Let us be God’s people in order that we might proclaim, in love, the mighty and merciful acts of Christ, the living and unmovable stone, on whom we find our security and our foundation.  

 

 

15 Pentecost

September 1, 2024

 

James 1.17-27; Mark 7.1-8, 14-15, 21-23

+ I have been at St. Stephen’s for a very long time now.

 

And in that time, you have seen Fr. Jamie in various moods.

 

Jovial.

 

Frustrated.

 

Sad.

 

But one that you have not seen very often is Fr. Jamie angry.

 

Some of you have.

 

But it’s very rare and far between.

 

But truth be told: I can be angry.

 

I have been angry about many things—especially the larger Church and the how people in the Church and in society are treated unfairly.

 

I get very angry about injustice and inequality.

 

My sister and I were talking about our anger the other day, and we both realized we get our bouts of anger from our mother.

 

My mom could get truly angry.

 

As she would say, when she was mad, “I’m seeing red.”

 

So do I!

 

When I am mad, I literally see red.

 

It’s the Irish in us I guess.

 

And when I do I always try to keep it myself.

 

But sometimes, I can’t hide it.

 

And it can unpleasant.

 

Of course, I’m human too.

 

We’ve all done this in our lives.

 

We’ve all been angry.

 

We’ve all lost it.

 

We’ve all been our worst.

 

We’ve all shown our shadow side, shall we say.

 

And we all have one—a shadow side, a dark side of our very selves.    

 

In today’s Gospel reading, we get a list from Jesus of some things the shadow sides of people do.

 

This list that Jesus lays out is a pretty strong and straightforward one.

 

And an uncomfortable one.

 

And most of us can feel pretty confident we’re free and clear for the most of the ones he lists.  

 

After all, most of us don’t steal, don’t murder, don’t commit adultery, aren’t purposely wicked, are deceitful, don’t slander

 

A few we might not really understand: avarice (which is just another word for greed)? licentiousness (which just means immorality, being immoral)?

 

Yes, we’re not guilty of these!

 

Then there’s folly? Folly? What’s so horrible about folly?

 

Folly could be seen as being frivolous or ridiculous.

 

But then, there are a few we find might actually hit home a bit, such as Envy and Pride.

 

For me, these two are the two that stumble me up the most.

 

These are the two of this whole list that I struggle with and fight against and try to overcome in my life.

 

Yes, I have been envious of others.

 

And, on occasion, I have been prideful.

 

What is especially apt about this morning’s Gospel reading is that Jesus takes these ugly things—these things from our shadow side—and uses them to engage fully the Pharisees and the scribes.

 

Now again, Pharisees and scribes were the righteous religious ones of Jesus’ Jewish world.

 

The Pharisees followed very strictly the Law.

 

And the Scribes were the ones who meticulous copied out the scrolls of the Law.

 

These were the experts of the Law of their age.

 

Jesus takes their condemnation of him about cleanliness and keeps the conversation going regarding cleanliness.

 

He simply takes their conversation up a notch.

 

He says, You are worried about what defiles the hands.

 

I am concerned with what defiles the heart.

 

The heart, for Jewish people of Jesus’ day, was truly the center of one’s being.

 

From the heart everything emanated.

 

The heart directed the mind.

 

It directed our thoughts.

 

If your heart was pure, then you were pure.

 

If your heart was evil, then you did evil.

 

Because where your heart leads, your actions follow.

 

Hence, his list of things that reveal the shadow side.

 

If our heart is full of pride, or envy, or lust or frivolous folly, then our hearts are not filled with God and love. 

 

But one that I am surprised Jesus did not list here is “anger.”

 

And if we did that to the list, then this would win the prize with me.

 

As I aid at the beginning of my sermon, know me as a pretty laid-back kind of person for the most part.

 

I don’t seem to fly off the handle very often.

 

I don’t think there have been too many people who have actually seen me completely lose it with anger.

 

OK. Some of the wardens may have seen it.

 

And maybe James saw once or twice when I have been angry over something.

 

And to be fair, it doesn’t always explode to the surface (which can either be a good thing or a really bad thing).

 

But it’s there and every so often I am forced to confront it.

 

When I do, I find myself experiencing this terrible anger in all its force.

 

And I don’t like it.

 

And I don’t like me when I am the throes of that kind of anger.

 

Anger can be all consuming.

 

When it boils up from within, all other senses seem to shut off—or angers shuts them off.

 

It rages and roils and knocks me—and anyone else around me—around, and in the midst of it, I find I am not only angry, but almost scared by the intensity of my anger.

 

Which only, of course, leads us to our reading from James for this morning.

 

Now, I LOVE the Epistle of James.

 

And I have never understood why people like Martin Luther felt that it should be excluded from the Canon of Scripture (along with Hebrews, Jude and Revelation).

 

His reasons for doing so were because they were against Luther’s doctrines of sola gratia (or grace alone) and sola fide (faith alone).

 

Luckily, we’re Episcopalians and we are not bound by Luther’s doctrines.

 

Grace alone and faith alone are not doctrines of Anglicanism.

 

Luther very famously called the epistle of James an “epistle of straw.”

 

But, what a waste if James was not a part of our scriptures!

 

And let me tell you, it is no “epistle of straw.”

 

It is a beautiful book.

 

And I am especially grateful for the scripture we get from James this morning:

 

“…be quick to listen, slow to speak, slow to anger.”

 

What a wonderful world this would be if we all did just that.

 

Anger is something that needs to be confronted and dealt with.

 

It needs to be systematically phased out, because it is like poison in our systems.

 

It can destroy us and those around us.

 

And, as James says, “anger does not produce God’s righteousness.”

 

If we think about our heart being the center of our being—as the center of ourselves— we find that anger truly does poison the heart and therefore the whole system.

 

When we harbor anger in our hearts, we are a slave to anger.

 

And if we are a slave to anger, we cannot let love flourish. And if we cannot let love flourish, God cannot come and dwell within us.

 

We block out God and we block out the Reign of God.

 

Anger does not help the Reign break through into our midst.

 

We are not helping build up the Reign when anger rules us.

 

In fact, we hinder the Reign of God when we are angry.

 

So, these words of James speak strongly to us this morning. “Be quick to listen, be slow to speak, slow to anger.”

 

We know how speaking sows the seeds of anger.

 

And if we’re speaking, we are not listening.

 

And sometimes, when we listen, we find that anger can be defused.

 

“Be slow to anger”.

 

I have come to the conclusion that, like despair (as you heard me say again and again), anger is simply not an acceptable Christian response.

 

Like despair, which squeezes out all hope, anger squeezes out hope and love.

 

It is simply impossible to love God and to love our neighbor as ourselves when we are filled with anger, when the storms of anger are raging within us.

 

Anger prevents love.

 

It stifles love.

 

It kills love.

 

And yet, it is such a human response.

 

The fact is,  we will feel anger.

 

And sometimes, the anger we feel is a righteous anger—an anger at things like injustice and racism and homophobia and sexism.

 

We should feel a righteous anger about those things.

 

It’s just that we should not let anger consume us.

 

But let us be clear about what James is saying to us.

 

He isn’t saying that we shouldn’t get angry on occasion.

 

He is simply saying we should be slow to anger.

 

We don’t need to fly off the handle.

 

We should not react in anger.

 

There are times when we may simply need to walk away from something that makes us angry.

 

This is how being slow to anger sometimes works.

 

Sometimes we just need to recognize anger and what it is in our lives.

 

But we don’t always have to engage it.

 

And we should never let it be the driving force of our lives.

 

So, let us listen to James.

 

Let us use his words as our own personal motto.

 

Let his words speak in us.

 

Let love squeeze out all anger from our lives.

 

Let us banish from our hearts—the center of our very being—anything that prevents love from reigning there.

 

Let us banish from it those vices—both easy to banish and difficult to banish—so that pureness can exist within us.

 

And if we do that, God’s love will settle upon the very center of our being.

 

And in that moment, God’s love will give us an everlasting peace that no anger can destroy.