1 Christmas

Dec. 28, 2008

John 1.1-18

“In the beginning…”

These are the first words of today’s Gospel reading. And they are appropriate ones if ever there were any. This reading from John is really in effect an echoing of the creation story at the beginning of the Book of Genesis. Both begin the same way, with the same words—in the beginning—and both tell of God’s working in our midst. In effect, they’re the same story, told from two very different perspectives.

In Genesis, we hear the story of God creating the earth and eventually the creation of humankind. In John, we hear the story of how God existed at all times and that with God, there existed God’s Word.

Now we’ve heard this passage from John so many times that it’s become quite familiar. It is just as familiar, in many ways, as the creation stories in Genesis or the story of Noah’s ark or any of those familiar stories we know so well from scripture. But the difference between those stories and what we heard this morning is that they were stories in a very real sense. They were basic narratives that are easy to relate to and easy to re-tell over and over again. What we hear at the beginning of John’s Gospel is different because it is, in fact, a hymn. Or at least, a portion of a hymn. It is a hymn explaining the Word and what the Word is and does. The hymn was, like the rest of the New Testament, originally written in Greek.

In Greek, the word for “Word” is “Logos.”

That word—Logos—means more than just a sound that comes out of our mouths. It means knowledge. We still use the word in this way. We find it such words at zoology—which means, roughly, “words concerning animals” or more correctly “knowledge concerning animals”
—psychology—words or knowledge concerning the mind
—biology—words and knowledge concerning life

and so on.

So, what we’re encountering in this Hymn is more than just a word. It is knowledge. But even knowledge doesn’t quite convey what this hymn is trying to say. I think the more correct word would be Wisdom. The Word—the Logos—of God is the Wisdom of God.

Another way to translate the word “logos” is to say “essence.” It is the very essence of what it conveys. In that sense, the “Word” of God brings us the very essence of God. In the Logos of God, we find God.

What is John talking about here? John is talking about Christ, of course. Christ is the Logos—the Word of God, the knowledge of God, the sense of God. When we hear his words, we are not hearing the words of some brilliant prophet. We are hearing the words of God—words that contain the knowledge and essence of that God. Did you ever wonder why, in some copies of the King James version of the Bible, the words of Jesus were in red? This is why. They were in red so that we pay special attention to what he was saying. What came from his mouth, in a sense, came from the mouth of God on high.

See how this is different than those other stories from scripture. It’s kind of heady stuff we’re dealing with here. It’s not easy to grasp what’s being talked about and it’s not easy to explain to others. However, this concept of the Word—or Logos—of God is really the heart of all Christian theology.

Now that sounds wonderful—at least to me. I’m a priest and I like theology. I like systematic thinking about God and Christ. I like examining words in Greek and exploring the full range of their meanings. It’s what I do. But for the rest of us, this passage is a difficult one to wrap our minds around.

“The Word was with God and the Word was God.”

Those are hard theological concepts—concepts that the Church as a whole has struggled with from almost the very beginning.

In the ancient Church, people fought hard to interpret what this meant exactly. Some felt that the Word—Christ—was similar to God, but was not equal to God. Certainly they did not feel that Christ was God. Others truly believed that Christ the Word—the personified Wisdom of God—was God, plain and simple. Just as our words are part of us, just as what we know is a part of us, so is the Word and knowledge of God a part of God.

A lot of dirty deeds were done over this simple passage of scripture. People were banished, people were tortured, some were even killed. But no matter what we might believe about Christ’s co-equality with God, this scripture does do a lot in helping us understand who and what Christ is.

Let’s take a look at what God is doing in this scripture. God isn’t simply sitting on some throne in some far-off heavenly realm. God is not sitting back and letting creation work itself out. What this passage shows us, more than anything, is that God is busy. God is at work in our lives—in the world around us. God is moving. God is doing something. More than anything what this scripture is telling us is that God is reaching out to us. And not just one or two times in our history. God has always been reaching out to us. From the first day of humankind to this moment, God is reaching out to us. God is calling out to us. He is talking with us and communicating with us.

This Word of God that we hear is Christ and Christ, as we learn in this passage, had always existed. Even before Christ came to us in the person of Jesus, Christ always was. And Christ always will be. God, in Christ, is moving toward us, even in moments when it seems like God is distance and non-existent.

There’s an excellent book I read a few years ago called the Disappearance of God. In it, the author explained that when we look at the Bible as a whole, we find God slowly disappearing from creation. As the Old Testament progresses, God seems to be pulling back further and further from our lives. God no longer speaks to his prophets as he did to Adam or Abraham or Moses. There were fewer and fewer visions of pillars of fire. There were fewer instance in which God worked miracles in the lives of his people. God no longer went out before the armies of the Israelites and fought their battles for them. By the time we get to the New Testament, God seems to be gradually fading away from the lives of humans.

But then we come across the Gospel of St. John. Here, in a sense, God’s presence is renewed. God comes forward and becomes present among us in a way we could never possibly imagine. God appears to us in the Gospels not cloaked behind pillars of fire or thunderstorms or wind. Instead, God appears before us, as one of us. God’s word, God’s wisdom, became flesh just as we are flesh. God’s voice was no longer a booming voice from the sky, demanding sacrifices. God instead spoke to us as one of us. And this voice is a familiar one. We cannot only understand it, we can embrace it and make it a part of our lives. And even after Christ dies and rises again from the tomb and ascends to heaven, the Word, in a very real sense, remains among us.

It continues on in the first followers, who wrote it down. It continues on in what Jesus still says to us today. It continues on in the Spirit of God that dwells within us and that speaks in us in our lives.

The Word is among us. It is spoken every time we carry out what Christ calls us to do. The Word is spoken when we reach out to those in need.

Whenever we are motivated by the misery around us—when we pray for those who need our prayers, when we reach out to those who need us in any small way we can—that is the Word speaking. And more than that—that is the Word at work in the world.

So let the Word and Knowledge of God be in you and speak through you. Be open to that wonderful reality in your lives. Let your voice be the voice of the Word and Wisdom of God. Let your lives be a loud and proud proclamation of that Word in the world around you.

St John the Divine

December 27, 2008

John 21.19b-24

I had never really considered St. John much before reading Ecumenical Patriarch Bartholomew’s recent book, Encountering the Mystery. In it, Bartholomew devotes a section titled “Saint John the Divine: Source of Theology.” After reading it, my devotion to St. John has increased greatly.

Patriarch Bartholomew writes in this section: “…the hermeneutical tradition of the Church considers the moment when St. John reclined upon the breast of our Lord Jesus Christ during the Last Supper as the starting point of the theological journey. It is from this event that the gift of theology is derived and drawn, as if from a life-giving spring and source.”

This one simple action—this beautiful act of love and affection—is, as Patriarch Bartholomew maintains, the beginning of all theology, of all deep and meaningful spiritual longing.

Ever since I read this passage from Encountering the Mystery, I have found myself returning again and again to the Gospel of St. John—a Gospel I admit I have struggled with over the years. But now, after reading the Patriarch’s book, I have come away with a new appreciation for this Gospel, about which Bartholomew writes: “It is no wonder that the Gospel of John is the central evangelical text of the Orthodox Church.” He goes on to highlight the Gospel’s “emphasis on light and resurrection together with its theological eloquence and poetic expressiveness.” I have also found myself returning again and again to that passage in today’s reading from St. John’s Gospel:

“Peter turned and saw the disciple whom Jesus loved following them; he was the one who had reclined next to Jesus at the supper…”

The beauty of this action of St. John’s is that it is an action we ourselves should be imitating. St Bonaventure said, “There [in that moment] our Lord fed [St. John] on the mysteries of his Divine wisdom, abundantly, uniquely, wholesomely, profitably.” We, like St. John, should also be fed abundantly, uniquely, wholesomely, and profitably. We should find our consolation, our joy, our absolutely gladness in that place, reclining alongside Jesus. And more than just reclining. We too should find ourselves in that place of complete trust. We too should lay our heads—full of our sorrows, our troubles, our pains, our angers—we should lay our muddled heads against the breast of Jesus that contains his sacred and love-filled Heart.

There, in that place so near to the source of his love and affection, we should find our shelter, our refreshment, the place we have longed to be spiritually and actually.

St. John truly is the model saint. Like him, we too should strive to be the one Jesus loves. That love should be the only goal in our lives.

St. Stephen

December 26, 2008

Acts 6. 8-7:2a, 51c-60

It is a pleasure to be able to celebrate the feast of St. Stephen at St. Stephen’s Church. It’s important, I think for churches to celebrate their patronal feasts. In the Orthodox and Roman traditions of the Church, the patron saint of a church is viewed as more than just namesake. They are seen as special guardians of that congregation. And so, it is especially wonderful to celebrate a saint like St. Stephen, who is our guardian and who is, no doubt,, present among us, with that whole communion of saints.

St. Stephen, of course, was the proto-martyr of the Church—the first one to die for his open proclamation of Christ. St. Stephen was also the first one to pray to Jesus outside of the Gospels. He also is considered the first deacon in the church. St. Stephen was the first to do many things. So, appropriately, is this church, that has been the first to do many things, named after St. Stephen.

As you might know, I teach theology at the University of Mary’s Fargo campus. I have so many students come to me who have been hurt by the Church. I have many students who are frustrated with the Church. And more often than not, their relationship with God has suffered for it. More often than not, I am amazed and surprised to find that many of these people have never differentiated their thoughts between religion and spirituality. When I explain the difference—that difference between religion and the Church—a human-run organization—and spirituality—that relationship between you and God—I see a transformation come over people. For many of them, they gave up on God when they gave up on religion. Hopefully, they are able, at some point, to see that just because they gave up on religion, it does not mean they have to give up on God.

When I talk about spirituality I am talking about the “true religion” that we prayed for last Sunday in our collect. So what this true religion? Well, I can tell what true religion is not. True religion is not what is going on the Church right now. There is so much anger and frustration in the Episcopal Church right now. Much of that anger is justified. But, people are condemning each other, bashing each other and demeaning each other in the name of the Church as we speak. People—because of their differences—are not acting like they love each other.

On the other hand, I see the Episcopal Church as making a real solid effort at true religion. If I didn’t believe that, I wouldn’t be here in the Church. One aspect of this church that I have always loved is the belief—and the fact— that there is room here for everyone in this church—no matter who they are. I love the fact that churches like St. Stephen’s continue to be primes examples of the Church in our midst by following the Via Media—the middle ground.

In many ways, St. Stephen’s is a microcosm of the ideal aspects of the larger Church. St. Stephen’s has always been the place that finds room for the liberals in the Church I love. Here too though there is room as well for the conservatives in the Church. And, of course, there is certainly plenty of room in this place for the moderates.

Anglo-Catholic people such as myself, as well as broad church and evangelical Episcopalians have been welcomed here as well, not to mention those who might not be certain what they believe about God or Jesus. And, of course, there has been room here for Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual and Transgendered people.

For me, St. Stephen’s personifies in many ways, that sense of true religion. The Church should be like a dinner to which everyone is invited. And St. Stephen’s has always been the place that knows this one blunt fact: The only thing there is no room for in true religion is for those who cannot love each other.

St. Stephen’s is a place very much like a family. We don’t always choose the people God has brought into our lives, but we always—ALWAYS—have to love them.

So what is true religion? True religion begins and ends with love. We must love one another as God loves us. True religion begins with the realization that, first and foremost, God loves each and every one of us. When we can look at that person who drives us crazy and see in that person, someone God loves wholly and completely, then our relationship with that person changes. We too are compelled to love that person as well. Love is the beginning and end of true religion.

Certainly, St. Stephen’s has always been a place of love. Love has never been a stranger here. Love has been offered not only on this altar, but among the pews and in the undercroft and in the entryway and in the parking lot. Love has went out from here into all the world. We who are gathered here have been touched in one way or the other by the love that has emanated from these people. We are the fortunate ones—the ones who have been transformed and changed by this love. We are the lucky ones who have—through our experiences at St. Stephen’s—been able to get a glimpse of true religion.

But our job now is not to cherish it and hold it close to our hearts. Our job now is to turn around and to share this love with others. Our job is take this love and reflect it for every one to see.
So, in a very real sense, we, at St. Stephen’s, are doing what that first St. Stephen did. We have set the standard. We have journeyed out at time into uncharted territory. And most importantly, we have, by our love, by our compassion, been a reflection of what the Church—capital C—is capable of.

May God—that source of all love, that author and giver of all good things—continue to bless us with love and goodness. May we flourish and grow. And may we continue to venture bravely forward in all that we continue to do here among us and throughout the world.
Amen.

Christmas Eve

Christmas Eve
December 24, 2008

Luke 2.1-20

Most of us, throughout our lives, find ourselves clinging to life’s little pleasures. Occasionally, something fills us with such joy and happiness, that we find ourselves savoring that moment, clinging to it, hoping it will never end. They don’t happen often. We can’t make those moments happen by own concentrated will. Even more often, we don’t ask for them. They just happen when they’re meant to happen and sometimes they come upon us as a wonderful surprise.

Now, having said this, I’m going to admit something to you that will come as no surprise I’m sure. I really am a church geek. I love being in church. I always have. And the best times to be in church were always Christmas Eve and Christmas morning.

One of life’s pleasures for me has always been Christmas Eve. And more specifically a Christmas Eve Mass. Some of my most pleasant memories are of this night and the liturgies I’ve attended on this night. Another of life’s small pleasures is Christmas morning. I especially enjoy going to church on Christmas morning. The world seems to pristine, so new. And one of my greatest pleasures as a priest, is to celebrate the Eucharist with you on this evening that is, in its purest sense, holy. And tomorrow morning I am looking forward to going to St. Mark’s Lutheran Church and con-celebrating the Eucharist with the people of St. Mark’s.

I also understand the tendency we all have of getting caught up in society’s celebration of Christmas. It’s easy to find ourselves getting a bit hypnotized by the glitz and glamour we see about us. I admit I enjoy some of those sparkly Christmas displays. I occasionally enjoy a good Christmas commercial on TV. In fact, the other day, I was watching a show of classic commercials and one came on that instantly put me back into my childhood Christmases. I’m sure you’ll remember it too. It begins with the Ink Spots are singing “I Don’t Want To Set The World On Fire” Two very attractive people are in a very modern (by 1980s standards), sparsely decorated office overlooking the Transamerica Building in San Francisco. The man introduces himself as “Charles,” the woman as “Catherine.” Charles ask Catherine: “Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?” “No,” Catherine says. “What is it?” The shadow of a Leer jet flies across the Transamerica building. Then announcer then comes on and says: “Share the fantasy. Chanel no. 5”

For some reason, that commercial was synonymous with Christmas for me as a child. Yet it had nothing at all to do with Christmas. There wasn’t a Christmas tree in sight. Nothing about it spoke of Christmas. And yet, for me, it WAS Christmas. And I remember the joy I felt the first time I bought my mother a bottle of Chanel No. 5. So, yes, I understand how easy it is to fall to the temptations of what the world tells us is Christmas.

But what I think happens to most of us who enjoy those light and airy aspects of Christmas is that we often get so caught up in them, we start finding ourselves led astray into a kind of frivolousness about Christmas. We find ourselves led off into a place where Christmas becomes fluffy and saccharine and cartoonish. Christmas becomes a kind of billboard. The other day I was looking through a wonderful book called Atomic Kitchen. It was book of ads and billboards from the 1950s and early 1960s, advertising kitchen appliances. The ads from this time, as some of you might remember, portrayed a pristine world. It was a world in which the perfect family lived in the perfect home, with perfect meals being prepared in color-coordinated appliances. It was a world without troubles, without fear, without despair, or uncertainty. It was a world that, ultimately, did not reflect its time accurately. Rather, it reflected some impossible ideal that no one could attain.

That, I think, is what we experience in the secular understanding of Christmas time. The glitz and the glamour of the consumer-driven Christmas can be visually stunning. It can capture our imagination with its blinking lights and its bright wrapping, or, as in the case of the Chanel No. 5 commercial, it can do it without any bright lights and wrapping. But ultimately it promises something that it can’t deliver. It promises a joy and a happiness it really doesn’t have. It has gloss. It has glitter. It has a soft, fuzzy glow. But it doesn’t have real joy.

The Christmas we celebrate here tonight, in this church, is a Christmas of real joy. But it is a joy of great seriousness as well. It is a joy that humbles us and quiets us. It is a joy filled with a Light that makes all the glittery, splashy images around us pale in comparison. The Christmas we celebrate here is not a frivolous one. It is not a light, airy Christmas. Yes, it has a baby. Yes, it has angels and a bright shining star. But these are not bubblegum images. A birth of a baby in that time and in that place was a scary and uncertain event. Angels were not chubby little cherubs rolling about in mad abandon in some cloud-filled other-place. They were terrifying creatures—messengers of a God of Might and Wonder. And stars were often seen as omens—as something that could either bring great hope or great terror to the world.

The event we celebrate tonight is THE event in which God breaks through to us. And whenever God beaks through, it is not some gentle nudge. It is an event that jars us, provokes us and changes us. For people sitting in deep darkness, that glaring Light that breaks through into their lives is not the most pleasant thing in the world. It is blinding and painful. And what it exposes is sobering.

That is what Jesus does to us. That is what we are commemorating tonight. We are commemorating a “break through” from God—an experience with God that leaves us different people than we were before that encounter. What we experience is a Christmas that promises us something tangible. It promises us, and delivers, a real joy. The joy we feel tonight, the joy we feel at this Child’s birth, as the appearance of these angels, of that bright star, of that Light that breaks through into the darkness of our lives, is a joy that promises us something.

It is a teaser of what awaits us. It is a glimpse into the life we will have one day. It is a perfect joy that promises a perfect life. But just because it is a joyful event, does not mean that it isn’t a serious event. What we celebrate is serious. It is an event that causes us to rise up in a joyful happiness, while, at the same time, driving us to our knees in adoration. It is an event that should cause us not just to return home to our brightly wrapped presents, but it should also send us out into the world to make it, in some small way, a reflection of this life-changing joy that has come into our lives.

Throughout Advent I have been reading Advent of the Heart by Alfred Delp, a young German Jesuit priest who was killed by the Nazis on February 2, 1945. This is one of those books that has moved me to my very soul. All through Advent I found myself reading it again and again. My copy of the book is almost falling apart, I’ve read it that much. In the book, there is wonderful Advent play Delp wrote for children about ten years before his death. It ended with a monologue that captures perfectly a Christian understand of what Christmas truly is.

Delp wrote at the end of his play: “That is Christmas—that a hand from above reached into our lives and touches our hearts. That is Christmas, not the other things. My friends, believe it, we have to suffer a lot and hang on. Only then is it Christmas.

“Christmas is a not a sweet fairytale for little children—for happy nurseries…Christmas is serious—so serious—that [people] gladly—die for it. —Tell everyone—many things have to change—first—here—inside…

“Christmas means that God—touches us, —that [God]—grasps our hands—and lays them—on—[God’s]—heart. —That God comes—to us—and sets us free. —Tell everyone—the other isn’t Christmas, —only this—is—Christmas, —that—God—is—with—us.”

Tonight, is one of those moments in which true joy and gladness have come upon us. Cling to this moment. Savor it. Hold it close. Pray that it will not end. And let this joy you feel tonight be the strength that holds you up when you need to be held.

Tonight, God has touched us. God has grasped our hands. Our hands have been laid on God’s heart. This feeling we are feeling right now is the true joy that descends upon us when we realize God has come to us in our collective darkness as a Light that will never darken.

O Emmanuel

Isaiah 7:14

O Emmanuel, Rex et legifer noster,
exspectatio Gentium, et Salvator earum:
veni ad salvandum nos, Domine, Deus noster.

O Emmanuel, our king and our lawgiver,
the hope of the nations and their Saviour:
Come and save us, O Lord our God.

We go through our lives walking, side-by-side, with those we love and cherish. We go, though, not seeing their faces, not seeing at all. Together, side-by-side, we stumble forward, blindly grasping at each other.

Until he finds us! He! The One who comes to us as one one us. He comes to us with a Face like our face, with skin like our skin and blood like our blood. He comes and we realize how truly we had never seen before.

When he comes to us, we see as we have never seen before. We see him as we long to see him. And, in seeing him, we see ourselves and each other, even as we race, side-by-side, toward him in that gorious, light-filled moment which will never end.

O Rex Gentium

Isaiah 9.5

O Rex Gentium, et desideratus earum,
lapisque angularis, qui facis utraque unum:
veni, et salva hominem,
quem de limo formasti.

O King of the nations, and their desire,
the cornerstone making both one:
Come and save the human race,
which you fashioned from clay.

How we bristle at authority. How we rebel. How we fight the powers that be and hunker down into our own independence. In our rebellion, we have hardend our hearts. We have allowed ourselves to freeze up from within. We have allowed the stifling coldness of our hearts to harden us through to our very core.

Jesus, the King, the Ruler of us all, comes not as a despot or tyrant. He comes knowing us better than we know us. He comes, breaking the frost of our rebellion not with a weapon or his royal staff, but with his cross and with the warmth of his Presnece and the gentleness of his embrace.

St. Thomas

December 22, 2008 (transferred)
The Chapel of the Resurrection
Gethsemane Cathedral, Fargo

John 20.24-29

I am fascinated by the stories of the Apostles. What I enjoy probably more are the stories of what happened to them after the Gospels. Some of these stories are so magical, so legendary, I just shake my head at times.

St. Thomas’ story is similar. Of course, we all know the story of Thomas, how he doubted the resurrected Jesus until he was able to place his fingers in the wounds of Jesus. But I really enjoy the stories of what happened to Thomas after the Resurrection.

The story goes that in those days when the apostles spread across the world—Sts. Peter and Paul went off to Greece and Rome, St. John went to Asia Minor and eventually to Cyprus, St. Mark went to Egypt—St. Thomas went even farther east, it is believed. He went to India. There’s a wonderful story in a text attributed to Joseph of Arimathea that when the Virgin Mary was dying, all the apostles expect Thomas were miraculous transported to Jerusalem to be with her in her last moments on this earth. Thomas, however, was granted the greatest gift of all. He transported from India to her tomb and was the only apostle to witness her assumption to heaven. There’s is a beautiful icon of this event, with the Virgin ascending to heaven supported by an angel, and Thomas beneath. They are joined by what appears to be a red ribbon. This ribbon was thee Virgin’s girdle. In a strange reversal of the Gospel story, the other apostles refuse to believe Thomas’ story of the Virgin’s assumption until they saw her girdle.

One of the modern results of Thomas’ time in India is, of course, the Mar Thoma Church. The Mar Thomas Church claims to have been founded by Thomas. It defines it self in this way: it is "Apostolic in origin Universal in nature, Biblical in faith, Evangelical in principle, Ecumenical in outlook, Oriental in worship, Democratic in function, and Episcopal in character.”

Coming out of the Jacobite Church of Malabar (Malankara Church), the Mar Thoma Church was reformed from several theological disputes in the 18th and 19th century by reforms from the Anglican Church. As a result, the Anglican Church has been in full communion with the Mar Thomas Church since 1929. And the Episcopal Church has been in full communion with the Mar Thomas Church since 1979.

The Mar Thomas Church is unique among churches because of its blending of Eastern (Orthodox) and Western (Reformed or Protestant) traditions. A recent article from the Office of Ecumenical Relations in the Episcopal church states: “The Mar Thoma Church refers to the Apostle Thomas as its founder and has been historically situated mainly on the southwestern coast of India in what today is the State of Kerala. Presently, the Mar Thoma Church has about one million members, and the number of its members and parishes in North America has been growing. The church combines ancient tradition and the Eastern Syriac language of worship with renewal, as witnessed in the Reformation or Purification movement of the mid-19th century.”

So, the spirit and the fruits of St. Thomas continue to grow and flourish in the Church. And this is the message for us on this feast of St. Thomas. In fact the message of all the apostles to us is a great one. The message of apostles like doubting Thomas is that, like them, we are human too. We will fail and stumble and fall on our Christian journey, just as they did. Like Thomas, we will doubt. Like him, we will be obstinate. We will demand proof at times and without proof, we will question and we will doubt. But, like them, we will also succeed, despite the set-backs. Because, as they no doubt realized, it was not about them at all. It was about what Christ was doing through them that mattered. Christ managed to work through and to succeed through them despite their human failings.

And the same is true of us as well. Despite our human failings, despite our obstinate natures and our doubting ways, Christ still managed to use us. Despite us, the Light of Christ still manages to shine through us. So, as it showed through St. Thomas, let the Light of Christ also show through you. Do not let your doubts, your failings, your trip-ups along the way be shades to that Light. Rather let that Light burn away your failings. And allow yourself to disappear into and become one with that Light.