2 Christmas

 

January 2, 2022

Jeremiah 31.7-14; Luke 2:41-52

+ I’d like you to go back in time with me today.

 We’re going back to a very different time.

 We’re going back to the summer of 1983.

 Yes, I know, on a bitterly cold day like today, going back to any summer in our thoughts is a pleasant diversion.

 But, let’s go back to that summer in particular.

 1983.

 That summer I was thirteen years old. 

 Thirteen is never a fun time for any of us to return to.

 Or maybe it was.

 But that summer was a decisive summer for me.

 It was the summer I was called to the priesthood.

 The date was actually May 31, 1983.

 Now when I say “called,” I don’t mean any might booming voice from heaven called me.

 Or any voice for that matter.

 I always say it was a “nudging.”

 And I think I’ve shared this with you before, but that “nudging” happened in a cemetery of all places.

 I can even tell you exactly where in that cemetery I received the “nudge.”

 I just knew that summer that I was going to be a priest one day and my whole life changed.

 In this morning’s Gospel we encounter Jesus not as we would expect to encounter Jesus in this Christmas season—not as a baby or an infant.

 Instead, we encounter Jesus as a twelve year old—not that far off in age then when I was called to the priesthood.

 Jesus appears to us like a head-strong independent youth, going off and doing his own thing.

 I can relate to that!

 But unlike many twelve year old boys, who could go off and do much harm at that age, he goes off by himself and spends as much free time in the Temple.

 I can relate to that too!

 For Jesus, the Temple was not a strange or unusual place.

 It was a place, we have seen throughout his life, that his parents returned to again and again.

 Here he was dedicated and circumcised (which we commemorated yesterday on the Feast of the Holy Name)

 Here they returned every year.

 The temple was a place in which Jews of that time believes the very Presence of God dwelled.

 In the Holy of Holies, the very heart of the temple, was the ark of the covenant.  

 It’s very stones were sacred and holy to them.

 It was heaven on earth for them.

 Jesus would have been familiar with the Temple.

 And more than that, he felt at home in the Temple.

 When I was thirteen, I was, as I still am, very much a “church geek.”

 I loved church. I thought it was a magical place—a different place than the rest of the world.

 It was a great place for me to go to seek refuge, to escape, to be somewhere different.

 I will also tell you something else about myself that you will no doubt find quite remarkable: I was a good teenager.

 I was not rebellious in the ways many of my friends and colleagues were.

 I didn’t drink.

 I didn’t smoke.

 I would never even have considered taking drugs of any sort.

 I genuinely liked my parents.

 But I was rebellious in my own way.

 I guess I knew my parents well enough that I knew the one thing that could get their goat was not drinking or hanging out with hoodlums, but rather religion was an issue of contention.

 My parents were good Lutherans and no one in their families or in our family ever questioned that or pushed the limits on that.

 Sure, my siblings kind of drifted away from church after confirmation like everyone else seemed to do, but they always remained, at least nominally, Lutheran.

 Imagine the chagrin they and my grandparents felt when, at thirteen, I announced that I wanted to be a Roman Catholic!

 And a Catholic priest nonetheless.

 It was simply not something that was done—certainly not by a teenage boy!

 My friends were even shocked.

 They thought it was weird. And they didn’t understand any of it.

 My parents, like Mary and Joseph in today’s Gospel, no doubt were also astonished and had no idea what I was saying to them.

 And this was my rebellion.

 I devoted myself to being a Catholic with such determination that eventually there was nothing more they could say.

 During that time in my life, this particular story from the Gospel of Luke  was a meaningful one to me.

 I understood and related to the twelve-year-old Jesus in a way I couldn’t relate to other teenagers my own age.

 Now, it’s natural that the teenage “church geek” should grow up to be a priest who also still loved to be in church any chance he can get.

 But I am not recommending that to you.

 What we, as Christians, need to do is recognize the fact that our Father’s house is some exclusive, conformist place.

 Rather, our Father’s house is a place that oftentimes is at odds with the world around it.

 It is place for all the rebels, all the rabble-rousers, all the people who exists out here on the fringes of society can come and find a home.

 It is place where everyone rejected by society can feel at home and peace.

 It is the place in which God dwells and it is there that we will find God.

 It is there we, like the pre-teen Jesus, must always be.

 For me, the Church has never been a place of conformity as so many other people have seen.

 For me the Church has been sort of counter-cultural.

 It has seemed to me to be a place that always is a bit at odds with the world. I recognized that when I was a teenager.

 I realized early on that my greatest rebellion was not doing what all the other kids were doing.

 My greatest rebellion was in a place that was truly going against the stream at times.

 And this is what the Church should be.

 The Church should never be the country club to the society.

 It should never be the place where “we” get to gather in place different than “them.”

 Rather the Church should be the place wherein “we” and “they” can come together and find our home.

 We don’t need to be obnoxious in our rebellion.

 We don’t need to shout and scream our rebellion.

 Our rebellion sometimes is as simple as living life with a sense of personal integrity and purpose, with a sense of love and compassion for everyone who comes to us.

 When we do that, the house of God stops being a church building only and starts being our very hearts, in which God dwells.

 We become the house of God to others when we reach out in love and compassion to others and be there for them.

 So, let us be the house of God.

 Let each of us be the place in which God dwells, in which Jesus longs to be and makes every effort to return to again and again.

 Let us be the house of God.

 And when we are, those words of Jesus taking on greater meaning:

 “Why do you search for me? Did you not know that I must be in my Father’s house?”

 And when we realize that, we will make a difference in our world.

 Let us pray.  

 Holy God, dwell with us. Inhabit out beings so that where we go, you will go with us. Let us be a place in which we carry you with us to those who need you, who long for you. And in doing so, may we always rejoice in your Presence with us. We ask this in Jesus’ name. Amen.  

 

 

 

 

 

The Feast of St. Stephen/1 Christmas

 

December 21, 2021

 + Well, I have to say that today is actually a pretty sad day.

 In case you haven’t heard, Archbishop Desmond Tutu, the great former Archbishop of Capetown, South Africa, died this morning at age 90.

 He was of course, a great leader, not only in the Church, but also in the non-violent movement that helped to topple the Apartheid Government of South Africa.

 But he was so much more than that.

 But more than that, he was a towering figure in the Anglican Church, and especially among the more Catholic minded Anglicans and Episcopalians.

 And he was a prophet—a true modern prophet.

 As I have  mentioned many times over the years, Archbishop Tutu was one of my heroes.

 And the world and the Church are a bit more empty today without his presence among us.

 It’s appropriate that Archbishop Tutu died today, on the feast of Sty. Stephen.

 St. Stephen was a person who could look into the future, who held strongly to his Christian faith, who was loudly able to proclaim that faith and live that faith out by his very life, very much like Archbishop Tutu did.  

 Those first founders of our church were a smart bunch.

 They also were a prophetic bunch.

 Naming our church after St. Stephen was a smart thing.

 Of course, the reason they came to this name was because St. Stephen’s Episcopal Church in Casselton, ND had just closed in 1956.

 And we inherited much of their furnishings.

 But St. Stephen was a great saint for us to have as our patron.

 In the Orthodox and Roman traditions of the Church, the patron saint of a church is viewed as more than just a 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 this morning, with that whole communion of saints, who is always present with us at worship, along with Desmond Tutu as well.

 St. Stephen, of course, was the proto-martyr of the Church

 “Proto” is the important word here.

 Proto means, essentially, first.

 He was the first martyr of the Church.

 He was the first one to die for his open proclamation of  Christ.

 He also is considered a proto deacon in the church.

 He is a special patron saint of deacons—and of all people who share a ministry of servitude to others.

 What better saint can we claim as our patron that St. Stephen?

 He was the first to do many things. 

 Just like we, as a congregation, have been the first in doing many things.

 St. Stephen, in his stance on a few issues, was not always popular obviously.

 There is a reason they dragged him out and stoned him.

 Archbishop Tutu as well was outspoken.

 He too stood up and spoke out against injustice and racism and homophobia and all the things we at St, Stephen’s have stood up and spoken out against.

Archbishop Tutu once said,

 "If you are neutral in situations of injustice, you have chosen the side of the oppressor. If an elephant has its foot on the tail of a mouse and you say that you are neutral, the mouse will not appreciate your neutrality."

 Well, we certainly have never been shy here at St. Stephen’s for speaking out against injustice in our own Diocese or in the world.

 And speaking out and making the stance we have in the past and the reaction we have received from others, let me tell you, I can feel for both St. Stephen and Archbishop Tutu.

 So, again, talk about two perfect saints for us to celebrate today.

 So yes it’s appropriate that this congregation that has been the first to do many things, is named after St. Stephen.

 When we look back at our 60 year history, just think for a moment about all those people who came through the doors of this church.

 Think about how many of those people who have been hurt by the larger Church.

 Think about how many were frustrated with the Church.

 And more often than not, their relationship with God suffered for it. 

 But they came here searching.

 Searching for true religion.

 Searching for a welcoming and open community.

 So what this true religion? 

 I see the Episcopal Church, as specifically St. Stephen’s,  as making a real solid effort at true religion.

 For me, St. Stephen’s personifies in many ways, what true religion is.

 The Church should be like a dinner party 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 to God not only on this altar, but among the pews and in the undercroft and in the narthex and in the parking lot. 

 And most importantly in the lives of our members out in the larger world.

 That Love that God has commanded us to share 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 this place and 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 continue to share this love with others.

Our job is take this love and reflect it for everyone to see.

So, in a very real sense, we, at St. Stephen’s, are doing what that first St. Stephen did. 

We are striving to do what Archbishop Tutu did.

We have set the standard. 

We have embodied who and what both St. Stephen the Martyr and Desmond Tutu stood for.

Even when it was not popular.

Even when people felt it wasn’t time.

We have stood up again and again for what we have felt is our mission to accept all people in love.

We have journeyed out at times into uncharted territory.

And most importantly, we have, by our love, by our compassion, by our acceptance of all, been a reflection of what the Church—capital C—is truly capable of.

We do all we do as St. Stephen and Archbishop Tutu did it—with our eyes firmly set on Christ, with our lips singing and praying, with our head held high, with love in heart, even if stones and rocks are falling around us.

We do so affirmed in our many ministries.

It is an amazing time to be at St. Stephen’s.

Those poor founders of our church would only be amazed at what this congregation they envisioned in 1956 would one day be.

As we begin another year of ministry, let us do with gratitude to God and one another in our hearts.

Let us shake off the negativity and those nagging doubts that may plague us.

And let us, like St. Stephen and Desmond Tutu, be strong and firm in our faith in God and our convictions of serving others in love.

And may our God—that source of all love, that author and giver of all good things—continue to bless us with love and goodness.

May we continue to 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. 

Let us pray.

Holy God, when St. Stephen looked up, he saw you, seated in glory and majesty on your throne with Jesus your Son at your right hand of God; when Desmond Tutu spoke out against the powers of darkness that prevailed, he was sustained and strengthened by you; we are grateful for Stephen and Desmond  and the vision they gave us of what awaits us in your Kingdom. Help us to embody their spirit of strength and vision as we do the ministry you call us to do in this world, and let us, like them, come to that heavenly Kingdom that you have allowed us to see today. We ask this in Jesus' holy Name. Amen.

 

Rest in peace, Archbishop Tutu

 

Christmas

 

December 25, 2021

 

 

+  Last night at Mass, I mentioned that I’m a church geek.

 

You know how you know I’m a church geek?

 

Because one of my greatest pleasures in life is doing the Christmas morning Mass.

 

Yes, I know.

 

Christmas Eve is beautiful.

 

Really beautiful.

 

But Christmas morning.

 

I don’t know.

 

It’s just just…something so very special.

 

I think that is what Christmas Day is all about.

 

This sense of it all being just…a bit more holy and complete.

 

For me, that captures perfectly this strange feeling I have experiencing this morning how I LOVE a Christmas Day mass

 

And now—this morning— Christmas is here.

 

This morning, we celebrate the Light.

 

And we celebrate the Word.

 

Our Gospel reading for today is one of my favorites.

 

In it we hear:

 

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. 

 

In the beginning, God was at work in our lives.

 

God was speaking to us form the beginning

 

And God continued to speak to us.

 

 

Today, we celebrate this Word that has been spoken to us—this Word of hope.

 

This Word that God is among us.

 

When we think long and hard about this day, when we ponder it and let it take hold in our lives, what we realized happened on that day when Jesus was born was not just some mythical story.  

 

It was not just the birth of a child under dire circumstances, in some distant, exotic land.  

 

What happened on that day was a joining together—a joining of us and God.

 

God met us half-way.

 

God came to us in our darkness, in our blindness, in our fear—and cast a light that destroyed that darkness, that blindness, that fear.

 

God shed Light on us.

 

And God—in the Word—spoke to us.

 

In both ways, God reached out to us.

 

 God didn’t have to do what God did.  

 

But by doing so, God showed us a remarkable intimacy.

 

But, how do we respond to God’s reaching out to us?

 

We respond by being the ones through whom God is born again and again in this world.

 We need to bring God into reality in this world again and again.

 We need to be the conduits through which God comes to this world.

 We need to be God’s Light

 We need to speak God’s Word of love.

 Why?

 Because God is a God of love.

 Because we are loved by God.

 Because we are accepted by God.

 Because we are—each of us—important to God.

 We are, each of us, broken and imperfect as we may be some times, very important to God.

 Each of us.

 And because we are, we must love others.

 We must give birth to our God so others can know this amazing love as well.

 Knowing this amazing love of God changes everything.

 When we realize that God knows us as individuals.

 That God loves us and accepts each of us for who we are, we are joyful.

 We are hopeful of our future with that God.

 And we want to share this love and this God with others.

 That is what we are celebrating this morning.

 Our hope and joy is in a God who comes and accepts us and loves us for who we are and what we are—a God who understands what it means to live this sometimes frightening uncertain life we live.

 This is the real reason why we are joyful and hopeful on this beautiful morning.

 This is why we are feeling within us a strange sense of longing.

 This is why we are rushing toward our Savior who has come to visit us in what we once thought was our barrenness.

 Let the hope we feel tonight as God our Savior draws close to us stay with us now and always.

 Let the joy we feel tonight as God our Friend comes to us in love be the motivating force in how we live our lives throughout this coming year.

 God is here.

 God is in our midst today.

 God is so near, our very bodies and souls are rejoicing.

 And God loves us.

 That is what we are experiencing this day.

 

In Christ, God’s Love came to us.

 

In Christ, God’s Love became flesh and blood.

 

In Christ, God’s Love became human.

 

And in the face of that realization, we are rejoicing today.

 

We are rejoicing in that love of God personified.

 

We are rejoicing in each other.  

 

We are rejoicing in the glorious beauty of this one holy moment in time.

 

So, let us rejoice.

 

And let us be glad.

 

God is with us.

 

And it is very good!

 

Let us pray.

 

Holy God, you are with us. You are present in our midst. And we rejoice in the Presence for which we have longed for for so long. Fill us this morning with true joy, with true hope, so that we can share this joy and hope with others. In Jesus' name, we pray. Amen.