4 Advent

December 18, 2016

Isaiah 7.10-16; Romans 1.1-7; Matthew 1.18-25

+ I have had an interesting array of Advent reading this year. Most recently I have been reading a fascinating biography of the great author and Christian apologist C.S. Lewis by the wonderful Anglican theologian Alister McGrath. Lewis continues to be such an important influence in so many Christian lives, and specifically in the lives of all of us who are Episcopalians and Anglicans.

In this particular biography though, I was especially struck with the story of Lewis’ conversion. As some of you might know, he was an atheist, then slowly, became an agnostic, then he became a believer in God. But his conversion to Christianity was different than his other realizations. Before, he believed in a God who was a rational realization, but One who was totally separate and separated from this world.  When he came to believe in Christ, all of a sudden, it all came together for him. God, in Christ, became personal. And it just sort of happened on its own in Lewis’ life.

I think many of us can relate to this. I know I certainly can.  Yes, most of us it seems have had that sense of the reality of God in our lives at times and we understand that, yes God exists. Out there. Maybe, vaguely, God cares for us and is aware of us. But God is out there. Distant and distinct from us.

For some of us, though, our experience of God becomes much more personal. And we often experience God in what we may call a so-called “Christ moment.”  This Christ moment happens when we see that God, as we see God in the person of Christ, is something much closer to us, much more personal, much more intimate.  God, in Christ, is here with us—in the turmoils and difficulties of this life.  And for any of us who have that “Christ moment” experience (and I hope you’ve had that experience in some way in your life), our spiritual lives change. Our relationship with God changes. No longer is God that distant presence—out there. But, in Christ, God becomes a real presence. Right here. And we feel—truly feel—that God really does LOVE us! And accepts us. Fully and completely. For who we are and what we are.

I had this “Christ experience” in my own life many, many years ago. Now, I really have never talked about this experience with others. I don’t know why I haven’t shared it.  I guess, it’s just always been a very private experience for me. Maybe I’ve never been really able to process it until recently.  But it was a very real.

I had just turned 12. I had long been interested in God and religion in general, though Church wasn’t all that exciting to me. And Jesus seemed like a nice teacher, a good guy, but I certainly did not see him at that time as the Son of God, or God incarnate.  At that time in my life, I was going through a hard time—or as hard for a time as a twelve year goes though (and let’s face it 12 years old really do have it hard often times).

In the midst for this hard time, in the midst for this spiritual searching, I just suddenly, in the midst of this kind for vague sense of God’s Presence out there, I suddenly “got” this whole Christ thing. I got that Jesus was God's Son. I got that God was with us, God right here. Jesus was God's Son in this world, in this flesh. And Christ loved me.  And Christ cared about the problems of that rebellious, eccentric 12-year-old.

Yes, Jesus was still a kind and good teacher in my understanding. But he was also much more than that.  The distance between that vague God and me closed up. And it all came together, as it did for C.S. Lewis. . It was amazing and it was very important. And I firmly believe it set my course for the rest of my life.

Now, I know some Christians—especially some  Evangelical Christians—may call that a “born again” experience. In some ways, yes, I guess it was. But it was a weirdly intellectual experience as well, which is why I related so much to the story of C.S. Lewis’ conversion in the Alister McGrath biography.  I mean, although there is still so much mystery and so much to the spiritual life I will never understand, in that moment it all just kind of made sense. And it was important to me.

I think it’s very appropriate that that experience happened to me during the Season of Advent (though I don’t think I really knew what Advent was in 1981)  Because this kind of “Christ moment” experience of God is what Advent and certainly Christmas is all about.   

This coming week, with Christmas upon us, like almost no other time in the Church Year, we recognize that what happened in the birth of Christ is the collective experience any for us who have experienced that intellectual and spiritual realization that God is with us.   This coming week at Christmas we are very strongly and uniquely reminded that God is no longer that distant, vague God out there.  But that God is here, with us. God knows us—each of us. And loves us—each of us.  God's Son in the form of this child, born to the Virgin Mary, suddenly breaks every single barrier we ever thought we had to God.

No longer are there barriers. No longer is there is a distance.  No longer is there a veil separating us from God.  In Christ, we find that meeting place between us as humans and God. God has reached out to us and has touched not with a finger of fire, not with the divine hand of judgment, with tender, loving touch of a Child.

This is what Incarnation is all about.  And because it is, because this “Christ event” changes everything, because we and our very humanity, our very physical bodies, are redeemed by this event, we should really want to glory in it.  God came to us, where we are, and met us. We may not have asked for it. We may not even have imagined how it could have happened. But it did.  And we are so much better for it.

Throughout our scriptures readings today, we  hear that one common echo:

Emmanuel.

Emmanuel—God with us.

In our reading from Isaiah today, we find God speaking through the prophet announcing that, through the lineage of David, Immanuel will come to us. Paul today talks of how God worked to bring about this revelation of God’s self in human form.  And in our Gospel reading, the angel calls Joseph, “son of David” and that through this lineage, through this virgin, we have Emmanuel.

We have “God with us.” Emmanuel is that point in which God and humanity met. God reached out to us.

This week, on Christmas, we will celebrate that event.  We will celebrate that event in which God finally break through the barriers and, in doing, destroys those very barriers.  This week we celebrate that cataclysmic event in which heaven and earth are finally merged, in which the veil torn aside, in which all that we are and all that we long for finally come together.   Nothing will ever be the same as it was before.  And realizing that, we can say: thank you, God! Thank you, O Christ!   It is an event that transformed us and changed in ways we might not even fully realize or appreciate even at this point.

The coming is Emmanuel—God with us—is almost here.  I don’t think any of us would doubt that.  We see the trees, the lights, the Santas and the reindeer.  But the real Christmas—that life-altering event in which God took on flesh like our flesh, is here, about the dawn into our lives.

Truly this is Emmanuel. This is “God with us.” God is with us.

So rejoice!  The star that was promised to us has appeared in the darkest night of our existence. It is a sign. It promises us light, even all seemed bleak before. There now is a way forward through the darkness. And we will not travel that way forward alone. Oh no.

God is with us.

And that light that reminds of this holy and amazing fact is now shining brightly, right there, before us.

And its light is burning away the dark clouds of doubt and despair.

Dan Rice preached a wonderful sermon this evening. 

A (late) birthday present for myself: the Poems of Dunstan Thompson

Gaudete Sunday

3 Advent

(Gaudete Sunday)

December 11, 2016

Isaiah 35.1-10; James 5.7-10; Matthew 11.2-11

+ Today, of course, is special Sunday. Only twice in the Church year do we get to “go rose.” Today is Gaudete Sunday.  Today we light our pink candle on the Advent wreath. And we wear these rose vestments because it’s an important day.   

Today, in the midst of the blue season of Advent, we get to rejoice—or rather rejoice a little louder than usual.  Gaudete means “Rejoice.” We also get to “go rose” in Lent in Laetare Sunday. I love these Rose Sundays!

But for now, we are here, on this Sunday.  And it’s very appropriate that we are rejoicing on this Sunday. As we draw closer and closer to Jesus’ birth, we find ourselves with that strange, wonderful emotion in our hearts—joy. It is a time to rejoice. It is a time to be anxious (in a good way) and excited over the fact that, in just a few week’s time, we will be celebrating God coming to us.

Or, as St. James says in our Epistle reading this morning: “Be patient, therefore, beloved, until the coming of the Lord,” and then goes on to explain how farmers wait patiently for their precious crops.

We are like farmers waiting patiently for the seeds of our faith to grow and blossom.

“Strengthen your hearts, for the coming of the Lord is near.”

Certainly, so far in the season of Advent, we have been doing just that. We have been waiting. We have been praying.

Two weeks ago in my sermon, I mentioned that when we pray that prayer, “Lord Jesus, come quickly” what we are praying for is that Jesus will actually come to us.  That has been our prayer and continues to be our prayer in Advent.

However…I hate to be this person.  On the surface, doesn’t all of this seem kind of…dare I say? Fluffy and precious? I mean, here we are on this Sunday, with our pink paraments, lighting a pink candle, praying a seemingly sweet and precious and overly simple prayer?

Appearances are important, after all. On the surface, it seems we are not really embodying the spirit of what we experience in our Gospel reading for today.  There we find Jesus discussing John the Baptist.  There is nothing fluffy or frivolous about John the Baptist.  He seems to me kind of like a wild man, out there in the desert in his clothes made from animal hides (that man was no vegan!), shouting about the coming of the Kingdom.  If he was here this morning, at St. Stephen’s, my reaction would be: He is not going to like all these rose vestments.

So, when Jesus asks the crowds, “What did you go out in the wilderness to look at?”

Did they go out to see a reed shaken by the wind?  Or someone dressed in soft robes? Did they go out to see something soft and frivolous?  No, they went out to see a prophet.

So, are we, this morning, not living to our ideals as prophets of God by decking ourselves in these rose vestments?  Are we proving to our critics that we are just flash and no substance?  Awww, that’s what I love about Gaudete Sunday.

Let me tell you, appearances can be deceiving.  Here, at St. Stephen’s, we find something else on this Gaudete Sunday.  Yes, it may see all pink and rosy this morning. But what we see is exactly what those crowds in our Gospel reading were looking for.

We, this morning, are a community of prophets. We are proclaiming the coming of the Lord.

One year ago, on our last Gaudete Sunday, we met as a congregation. And we voted unanimously on that Sunday to seek Delegated Episcopal Pastoral Oversight. Yes, it was one year ago. And that decision was not an easy one for us. It certainly has not always been an easy year after doing so.

There is a feeling among us at times as though we have been shunned a bit, as though people may have chosen to step away from us as we journey forward. We have felt neglected at times and ignored for making the stand we made.  Whether that is intentional or not is not our place to say. I do know that being in such a position is a hard one.

But, I will repeat to you what Jesus asked the crowd:

“What did you expect?”

What did anyone expect when we did what we did one year ago? After all, we are not reeds shaken by the wind. Being prophets, proclaiming the way of the Lord, is hard. I said that then.  I repeat it this morning.

It’s hard. But it’s not impossible.  We are safe on this journey, because, I can tell you, that while others may choose to turn away, or to distance themselves from us, while some may choose to ignore or neglect us, we know that our pathway is safe.

Those images we find in our reading today from Isaiah speak loud and clear to where we have been and where we are going as we follow the path we started one year ago.

“A highway shall be there,” we hear Isaiah say,

“And it shall be called the Holy Way…

It shall be for God’s people…

No traveler, not even fools, shall go astray.”

This path we walk is the right path for us. We have had one year on this path to show us that reality.

It has been a hard year, yes. But it has been a very good year as well. While the world went on in its ways, we have remained committed to our path and to our vocation as prophets, even when it all seems overwhelming. But, we have found that our weak hands have been strengthened and our feeble knees have been made firm. When our hearts have been fearful this year, you have it heard proclaimed within these walls, again and again,

“Be strong, do not fear!”

We know that our God will come with vengeance, with “terrible recompense.”  Our God, we know as prophets, will come and save us.  And our pathway will be made straight.

This is why we rejoice on this Gaudete Sunday. Whenever we have doubted the path on which we walk, whenever we are tempted to stray from the road, our God who is coming to us nudges us forward toward the goal.  That is why we rejoice on this beautiful rose-colored Sunday!

So…rejoice today. I say it,  Rejoice! We are following the right path. We are doing the right thing. The decisions we made a year ago and continue to make have made a difference in people’s lives, and will continue to do so. That is why we are out here in the wilderness, proclaiming God’s coming among us.

Let us continue forward. Let us set our sights on our goals. And let us move forward. And let us know, as we journey, that “everlasting joy” will be on our heads. We shall obtain joy and gladness in our lives. And we will rejoice—we will REJOICE!—because sorrow and sighing shall flee away.

Stewardship Letter

November 29, 2016

Dear St. Stephen’s family,

This Sunday, December 4, is our Pledge Ingathering—the day when we gather our pledge cards and time-and-talent sheets. I was recently asked a very important question: “what is this pledge package we are receiving?”

My answer is a fairly simple one. Your pledge is a way to say,

“I love this place. I love what it stands for. I love its uniqueness. I love that St. Stephen’s has accepted me when I needed acceptance. I love that it accepts others who need acceptance. I love this place so much I am willing to support it with my creativity, my energy and my financial resources.”

St. Stephen’s is definitely not your typical Episcopal Church—or your typical church by any definition. We are unique. We are eclectic. We do things a bit different than other churches. 

Everyone knows we are welcoming. It is not secret that we are fully-accepting. But we are definitely not push-overs. We are also very strong and committed. And when we stand up for something, we STAND UP. And we speak out.

This is how we follow Jesus and this is how we live as his Presence in this sometimes scary and uncertain world that needs Christ’s radical goodness, radical acceptance, radical love.

In the 1960s and 1970s, St. Stephen’s was at the forefront of full-acceptance of women in all ministries of the Church at a time when such a stand was often unpopular. In the 1980s and 1990s, we were the first congregation in the Diocese of North Dakota to seek full support of GLBT Christians in the Episcopal Church. And last year, we were the first congregation in the Diocese to stand up for marriage equality for all people.

Your pledge makes sure we continue to be the congregation we have always been. Your pledge helps us to continue to be a radical, loving and safe place for all. 

I have said it many times before: if you want to see the Episcopal Church of the future—it is right here. We are it. St. Stephen’s is what it means to be alive and vital as Christians. We are what it means to be all-inclusive, even if that means being inclusive to a fault. We are what it means to accept everyone—no matter their sexuality, their color, their gender, their political party, no matter if they are spiritual skeptics -- everyone is welcome here and fully ACCEPTED here. This is who we are.

And in the face of whatever may come, socially, government-wise, if the skies turns dark and the moon falls into the ocean, we will still be who we are and what we are.

That is what your pledge supports here.

Please return your pledge package this Sunday, December 4 for our ingathering. If you have not received a pledge card or a time-and-talent sheet, please let me know and I will make sure you receive one.

Your financial offering is essential for us to continue to be who we are here. We cannot be the radical, accepting, loving congregation we are without your help and support.

More than anything, however, please know how grateful and humbled I am to be serving as your priest. I am truly blessed by God to be serving a congregation that is excited about what it is doing, that is renewed by its energy and committed to its following of Jesus. Thank you for all you have given to me.

-peace,

Fr. Jamie+