2 Pentecost

June 26, 2011

Matthew 10.40-42


+ This past Wednesday evening, at our Wednesday night Mass, we commemorated, very quietly anyway, the eve of the feast of Corpus Christi. Corpus Christ is of course Latin for the Body of Christ and it is a feast in which we celebrate the Real Presence of Jesus in the Eucharist, in the Bread and Wine of Holy Communion. And today is traditionally Corpus Christi Sunday. Of course the Episcopal Church doesn’t officially recognize this day, though Anglicans elsewhere do, as do Roman Catholics everywhere.

Traditionally on Corpus Christi, in Roman and Anglo-Catholic parishes, the Host is placed in a monstrance—which is a tall, very ornate stand, with a little glass circular container in its center, in which the Host goes. The monstrance, with the Host in it, is then processed. It can processed through the church, or around the outside of the church or on the street outside the church.

You have often heard me mention the Episcopal church of St. Mary the Virgin—so called “Smoky Mary’s” because of all the incense they use—on Time’s Square in Manhattan. They process Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament right through Times Square on the feast of Corpus Christi amidst clouds and clouds of incense and bewildered onlookers.

We, however, did not nor will we do any of that, here at St. Stephen’s. Now considering that, on Wednesday, we had Thom Marubbio, Joanne Droppers, Gin Templeton and Betty Spur in the congregation, there seemed to be little chance of us actually processing  the Blessed Sacrament around the church. I don’t know who of them would have held baldachin (which is the fancy canopy that is carried by four acolytes) Though I’m sure we could’ve out on a good show for the college kids who live across the street on the corner. And I could’ve imagine maybe one or two of our Wednesday night congregants just sort of disappearing right before the procession started. I won’t say who…

Actually, such displays may be a bit too much, even for me… Still, I never shy away from my very solid belief that the Eucharist is the center of our lives as Christians. Even Lutherans believe that!

And with that in mind, it is good for us to be reminded about how and why the Eucharist is central to our lives. And it IS central to our spiritual lives and ministries here at St. Stephen’s. On our website you’ll find this wonderful kind of Mission Statement:

St. Stephen’s is a community called by Christ through the Holy Spirit


+ to live a life of common worship centered around grateful thanksgiving to God in the weekly celebration of the Holy Eucharist


+ to be faithful stewards of the gifts and resources entrusted to us


+ to be bearers of God’s healing and reconciling love.


As ambassadors for Christ, we are dedicated to share the Good News of God in Christ through the Sacraments, Liturgy, , Word, Music and by attending to the needs of all people in the name of Jesus.

I really like that mission statement. I think it really says it all, as far as I’m concerned. To a large extend all of this—being bearers of God’s healing and reconciling love, being faithful stewards—all of it stems from our celebration of the Eucharist. Because everything we do is simply a reflection of that.

What do we do when we come to this table? We are feed. And what we are called to do after we have been fed? We are called then to feed others.

What does it mean that we have the Eucharist as the center of our ministries here at St. Stephen’s? It means that, for us to do ministry, for us to actually go out and do the work we have been called to do, we need to be fed.

We need to be fed physically, but we need to be fed spiritually too. If we are famished, we do not feel motivated to work. If we are empty and having nothing to sustain us, our lacking will show in our ministry. The fact is, God wants us to be fed. God wants us to be sustained. And I’m not just saying us, gathered here today. I am saying God wants ALL of us to be fed and sustained. Every last one of us. And, in the Eucharist, we experience true nourishment. It is a reminder to us that what we do when we come at this altar is not just for ourselves. It is not some quaint private archaic devotion we do here. It is a radical experience of God And it is the “shot in the arm,” so to speak, for us to turn around and share this love and nourishment we receive here with others. We, who leave here, carrying Christ within us, are then to share this Presence of Christ with others through our actions and our words.

There is a reason the bread of the Eucharist is called a Host. The bread truly does become the Host to Christ, who is present. I love that idea of the bread being the host of Christ. But what I love even more is that we, in turn, become hosts ourselves. But we too are host to Christ when we take Holy Communion. And being host, we are all called to be host to those around us.

In our Gospel reading for today we find Jesus saying to us,

“Whoever welcomes you, welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes the one who sent me.”

In the Eucharist we find this incredible welcome. And nourished by the Eucharist, changed by the experience with God and with each other in this Eucharist, we are able to extend this welcome to all those we meet as well. The Eucharist empowers us and charges and, yes, challenges us to be hosts, to welcome everyone we meet as though they are Christ. It empowers us to give even a cup of cold water to the “little ones”—the least ones—in our midst. In the Eucharist we experience a hospitality like none we have never known before. It is a truly powerful experience. And you can tell it is a powerful experience because, some churches, for example, deny people from participating in the Eucharist simply because they don’t believe a certain way about it. Such thinking baffles my mind.

What we experience in the Eucharist is radical hospitality—the same kind of hospitality we practice here at St. Stephen’s again and again. At the Eucharist, each of us is welcomed for who we are. No one should be turned away from this altar and this meal. At this Eucharist, we are accepted for who we are. And, at this Eucharist, we are loved fully and completely just for who we are. And knowing this and experiencing this, we then can turn around and welcome others, accept others and fully and completely love others because we too have experienced all of this in this incredible meal.

I am amazed when I hear stories of people who have been turned away from Holy Communion. I get downright angry when I hear of people being denied the Eucharist because of something they did—whatever it might be. That is not what the Eucharist is about.

The Eucharist is a foretaste of what awaits us. The Eucharist is a glimpse of what the Kingdom of God is truly like—where all people are welcomed and received. The Eucharist is a peek into what awaits all of us. It is the ideal place.

As you often hear me say about the Kingdom of God—“It’s party and everyone’s invited.” We don’t have to go, but the invitation is always open. That is what Eucharist is. Our job as the hosts is to make sure that everyone knows they’re invited. Our job is to make that everyone knows they are welcomed and loved and accepted at that party. And we do it by who we are and what we are.

So, as you come forward this morning, come forward knowing that what we experience here is truly an amazing and radical experience with the Kingdom Jesus proclaims again and again. As you come forward this morning to this altar to receive Jesus’ Body and to drink his Blood, do so knowing that this radical welcoming of Jesus is also an invitation for you to welcome others just as radically.

“Whoever welcomes you, welcomes me,” Jesus says. “And whoever welcomes me welcomes the one who sent me.”

Those are not just words spoken to us. They are spoken also to all those we encounter in our lives. As Brother Curtis Almquist of the Episcopal Society of St. John the Evangelist shared once in a sermon:

“We meet Jesus in our baptism [and, I would, add, in the Eucharist] where, we believe, Jesus comes to live in our hearts, to make his home in us, to abide with us. But this is also true for others. They, too, are a dwelling place for Jesus. We, individually and corporately, embody Jesus. Yes, Jesus lives in me, but Jesus also lives in you.”

Jesus lives in each of us. He is living his radical and amazing life and love through us. So, let us each be the host of that loving presence to those around us. And, with Jesus present in us, let us his speak his welcoming words of invitation to all those we encounter. All are invited. All are welcome. No one will be turned away.

Trinity

June 19, 2011

Matthew 28.16-20

+ Most of you know that I am a pretty compassionate priest. I really do feel sorry for people and try to soothe people’s pains—at least as much as I am able to do. But one thing I have very little pity for is whiny preachers. And, let me tell you, I have never heard preacher’s whine more than they do when they have to preach on this Sunday—Trinity Sunday.

Last night on Facebook, I heard many of my clergy friends lamenting the fact that they were still struggling over their Trinity Sunday sermons.

“Boo hoo,” these preachers whine. “I have to preach on an obscure theological doctrine that has almost no scriptural basis.”

Boo hoo indeed!

I actually LOVE to preach about the Trinity. Now, I don’t claim to know anything more about the Trinity than any other preacher. I am no more profound than anyone else on trying to describe what the Trinity is or how it works. But I also don’t find it to be such a stumbling block. Yes, I know the word “Trinity” never appears in scripture. But I do enjoy exploring the different aspects of how the Trinity is made known to us. And…I very unashamedly believe that God does manifest God’s self in Trinitarian terms.

But that doesn’t mean I am not confused but it some times. And doesn’t mean that I don’t occasionally doubt it all sometimes.

In our Gospel reading for today, we find that some worshipped Jesus when they saw him resurrected. And we find that “some doubted.” I think that is a normal reaction for those people, who were still struggling to understand who Jesus was, especially this resurrected Jesus. And the fact that we too doubt things like the Trinity is normal as well.It IS difficult to wrap our minds around such a thing. It’s complicated and it’s complex. And, speaking for myself, sometimes the more I think about it, the more complicated it seems to get. Especially when we try to think in the so-called correct (or orthodox) way about it all.

But the doubts, the complications and intricacies of the concept of the Trinity are all part of belief. Belief is not meant to be easy. It is meant to be something we struggle with and carry around with us. And doubt isn’t always a bad thing. We all doubt at times. Without doubt we would be nothing but mindless robots.

Still, I do find some headstrong Episcopalians among us. Of course, I am not headstrong in any way shape or form. I am very humble and complacent kind of guy. (I don’t know why you don’t believe that!!!!) I occasionally will encounter one of these headstrong Episcopalians, especially when it comes to the Creed.

“I have issues with the Creed,” I hear people say every so often. “I don’t believe some of it.”

I usually shrug when I hear that. Like those whiny preachers, I really sort of nod and smile politely. I certainly understand when people have issues with certain aspects of the Creed. Depending on the day, or the phase I am in in my life, I sometimes struggle with some aspects of the Creed myself.

But…the fact remains: it not my own personal Creed. If it were, it might be somewhat different. The Creed we stand up and profess every Sunday—a Creed that lays out belief in the Trinity very clearly—is not the private, personal creed of any one of us. It is OUR Creed. It is our collective Creed. It what WE believe, not necessarily what I personally believe. And while I may doubt and struggle with belief personally, together, we do find strength and purpose in professing a creed we, together, believe in. Sometimes that collective faith upholds us when we doubt or downright disbelieve.

Still, there are moments when the Trinity does confuse me and I am filled with doubts. I am one of those people who occasionally just wants something simple in my faith life. I just want to believe in God—the mystery of God, the fact that God is God and any complexity about God is more than I can fathom. I sometimes don’t want to solve the mystery of God. I don’t want God defined for me. I sometimes don’t want theology. I sometimes just want spirituality. I sometimes just want God.

But, as a Christian, I can’t get around the Trinity. And so I struggle on, just like the rest of us.

One of the best things that has helped me in my faith in God as Trinity is the famous icon of the Trinity, written (that’s the proper way to say an icon is painted or drawn) by the great Russian iconographer, Andrei Rubelev. You will see a version of Rublev’s icon on the cover of your bulletin this morning. I have placed a modernized, even clearer version of the icon on the votive stand in the narthex. After Mass today, I encourage you to go and take a look at it and see how truly beautiful it is. Many scholars consider Rublev's Trinity the most perfect of all Russian icons and perhaps the most perfect of all the icons ever painted.

One description of the icon goes like this: “Rublev's Trinity icon is considered to be void of any noticeable energy of earthly life, of corporeality of forms and external manifestations of love, equally absent from it is that cold soaring of the spirit, so remote from humans.

“The image determines the subtle struck balance between soul and spirit, the corporeal and the imponderable, endless and immortal sojourn in the heavens. When speaking of Rublev's work, different authors describe the Trinity's Angels as quiet, gentle, anxious, sorrowful, and the mood permeating the icon as detached, meditative, contemplative, intimate.”

The subject of this icon is the story in Genesis about the visit by three Angels to the Prophet Abraham and his wife Sarah. According to some theological interpretations, these three Angels represent the three Persons of the Trinity.

In the icon we can see that all the three Angels shown as equals to each other. In a sense, this icon is able to show in a very clear and straightforward way what all our weighty, intellectual theologies don’t. What I especially love about the image is that, in showing the three angels seated around the table, you’ll notice that there is one space at the table left open. That is the space for us. In a sense, we are, in this icon, being invited to the table with the Trinity. We are being invited to join into the work of the Trinity. And I think that is why this icon is so important to me.

Yes, I have my doubts. Yes, my rational, intellectual mind prevents me to understand fully what this Trinity could possibly be and, as a result, doubts creep in. But the icon does what nothing else can. It simply allows me to come to the table and BE with God as Trinity. It allows me to sit there with them and be one with them.
Last week, on the Feast of Pentecost, I shared some thoughts from Scot McKnight from his wonderful book One.Life, which I have read lately. Well, McKnight actually has a few thing to say about the Trinity as well in One.Life, that I’d like to share.

McKnight writes: “There are very few ideas that move me so deeply they create silence, and this may be because I think I’ve landed on one of the deep secrets of life. The one silencing idea is the Trinity, the Christian belief that God is One and Three, Three and One, at the same time, always and forever. My soul goes silent when I meander in thought to pre-creation, when all that existed was this Three-in-One God, and I ask this question: Before it all begin, before the stars and sun and sky and earth, before what Genesis 1 calls the…’formless void,” what was God doing?’”

The answer, according to McKnight is found in one Greek word, perichoresis, (which derive from the Greek words Peri or “Around” or “chorein” which means “contain).

McKnight defines perichoresis as the “interpenetrating and mutual indwelling of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit.”

Don’t worry if you don’t quite get it.

He goes on: “The Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit were in an endless dance of endless love and surging joy and delightful play as they enjoyed the depth of their love for One Another. They were doing this forever and are doing this now and will do this for eternity. At the core of life, in God’s own life, is this throbbing joy of mutual indwelling.”

I am really taken with this concept of perichrosis, especially with it being a kind of dance. And what I like most about this is the fact that we are being invited to be a part of this dance as well. We are being invited into this dance, much as we are being invited to sit at that table in Rublev’s icon. We are invited to join in this dance that has gone on form before time and will go on long after time has ceased.

This dance of the Trinity is what we do here. This table that we sit at is this table here—this altar. This dance we do with the Trinity is the ministries we are all called to do. We don’t need to rationalize everything out about our faith in God. We don’t need to sit around and make it a personal issue. It’s not all about me. Or you. Or any one of us.

No matter how much we might doubt the Trinity, the Trinity still exists. It still goes on, in its eternal dance. And no matter how much we might doubt in our rational minds, we are still being called to the dance. No matter how much we might doubt, we are still being called to sit down at the table.

So, let us do just that. Let us sit down at that table. Let us bring our doubts and uncertainties with us. And let us leave them there. Let us let God be God. And let us go out form this table to do the work each of us has been called to do.

Jesus today, in our Gospel reading, commands us to go and make disciples of all the nations. By doing so, we are joining in that dance of the Trinity. And by doing so, we know, despite our doubts, despite our uncertainties, that the Trinity will be with us always, even to the end of the age.

Dancing.

Pentecost

June 12, 2011

Acts 2.1-21

+ It has become a Pentecost Day tradition for me to tell this story. Yes, I know you’ve heard it before, so don’t think too quickly that I am recycling an old sermon just because this story sounds familiar. I just love to tell the story.

Several years ago, in a Bible study, we were discussing the Holy Spirit. Now, as we all know, the Holy Spirit is not something most of us think about very often. The Holy Spirit is mysterious and ephemeral. Well, in this discussion, someone point-blank asked: “So, what is the Holy Spirit?”

The priest who was heading the discussion thought for a moment and then said, in all seriousness, “Well, when you think of the Holy Spirit, just think of Casper the Friendly Ghost.”

I was telling this story to my friend, Justin Schwartz this past week and also mentioned (and this is a complete aside mind you) that I once considered getting a tattoo. And one of the subjects I considered was Casper the Friendly Ghost. As a little boy, I loved Casper. The problem with me getting Casper as a tattoo was that with my Irish-pale skin, no one would be able to actually see Casper. He would just sort of look like a white scar against my white skin.

Anyway, I do have an issue with seeing the Holy Spirit as “something like Casper the Friendly Ghost.” And I don’t think I have shared with you before my vehement response to this priest and her analogy of Casper in describing the Holy Spirit.

Nothing that we read about in our reading from Acts today conveys an image of the Spirit looking anything like Casper. The Spirit that we find in today’s reading is not some nice sweet little ghost floating around and looking gentle and cute. The Spirit we encounter is truly a firestorm. The Spirit comes blasting in and flip-flops everything. Nothing is ever quite the same again in the lives of those followers of Jesus gathered in the Upper Room—or, we can say, in our own lives as Christians either.

And THAT is how the Spirit works.

I have been reading a wonderful book recently by Scot McKnight called One.Life. McKnight talks quite a bit about Pentecost and the Spirit of Christ that came upon those people. For McKnight, that event in the life of the Church and in our lives as followers of Jesus was one of the most radical events to happen. It was not some personal religious experience. It was not some individual spiritual experience that made everyone feel all warm and cuddly. What happened in that room was a swift kick. It was a kick from God to God’s people. The Spirit’s outpouring on t hose people was the motivation for them to get up and get out and do what they were called to do.

Now, we’ve all heard of this phenomenon of “speaking in tongues” that we are introduced to in the book of Acts. I find it amazing that in the more Pentecostal churches these speaking in tongues is viewed as a special gift that is almost always done INSIDE the church.

I remember seeing it for the first time in my Aunt Shirley’s First Assemblies of God Church. People would get up and speak in some strange language that no one understood and people would rejoice in it, but no one really seemed to know what was being said. It was celebrated because it was seen as a special gift from God granted to certain people.

But, what we find in the Book of Acts, when the gift of tongues comes upon those followers of Jesus, is not quite what the people in the Assemblies were doing. What happens to the first followers of Jesus is actually quite practical. It was more than some mystical, secret language of the Spirit. It was, instead, a sign from the Spirit. It was sign that what happened at the Tower of Babel, when the nations were confused by multiple languages, has been reversed. Now, empowered by the Spirit, the followers of Jesus were compelled to go out and preach this Kingdom of God to all people and that different languages would no longer be a barrier to them. The Spirit’s movement in their lives meant that all the barriers were knocked down. The Wind of that Spirit came in and destroyed every barrier in ministering and serving others.

For us, it’s similar. Maybe our barriers are not languages in the ministries each of us are called to do here and outside these walls. But the ministries we have been empowered by the Spirit of Christ to do in our lives truly should be breaking barriers as well. We are all called to ministries that break down barriers. Our ministries to proclaim by word and example the radical love of God and the Kingdom of God in our midst will break down barriers.

As McKnight writes in One.Life:

“…when Pentecost happens, the Spirit of God…
transforms human abilities
and Transcends human inabilities
so Transformed people can participate
In God’s Kingdom
In the here and now.”

In other words, no longer are we confined by inabilities. No longer are we held prisoner by what we are not able to do. Because the Spirit again and again breaks down those barriers—whatever they may be—and compels us to serve whenever and where we are.

McKnight also gives a wonderful description of what exactly this Kingdom or Reign of God is like. He writes:

“[The Kingdom is] Life lived with others, regardless of who they are
Life shaped by the teachings of Jesus through his apostles
Life experience by eating with one another.
Life swarmed by prayer.
Life carried away in awe of what God was [and I would add, IS] doing
Life shared economically and materially
Life welcomed by outsiders
Life expanded.
Life unleashed.”

This Spirit that we are celebrating today on this Pentecost Day is truly that Life unleashed. The Spirit is life at its best, life at its greatest potential. This Spirit is motivating all of us, like those first followers, as well. It is motivating us to get up and to move outside these walls and to proclaim justice and mercy and peace to those around us.

When the Spirit moves in our lives, we are not only recognize the injustices going on around us, but we are also motivated to stand up and to proclaim them wrong. When the Spirit moves in our lives, we not only are able to see the sufferings of those who are marginalized and oppressed and driven down, but we are empowered to get up and help them and strive to create a better place.

This is what it means to be a Christian. This is what it means to do ministry. This is what it means to live a life in which the Spirit moves and compels and drives us forward. This is what it means to follow Jesus.

McKnight in his book answers that all-important question of “What is a Christian?” with this wonderfully insightful answer:

“A Christian is one who follows Jesus by devoting his or her life to the kingdom of God, fired by Jesus’ own imagination, to a life of loving God and loving others, and to a society shaped by justice, especially for those who have been marginalized, to peace, and to a life devoted to acquiring wisdom in the context of a local church. This life can only be discovered by being empowered by God’s Spirit.”

This is what the Spirit does. It empowers us. When we think we are weak and hobbled by life, the Spirit comes in and gives us strength. When we think we are good enough to do ministry, to proclaim by example or word that love of God that we have been shown and can show others, the Spirit comes in and corrects. When we think we are too old or too young or not enough or too smart or limited by a lack of financial resources or physical limitations or mental illness or grief, the Spirit comes in and fills us once again with life.

The Spirit unleashes life within us so, through us, life can be unleashed. That is what ministry is. And it is incredible.

So, let us receive the Holy Spirit. Let that Spirit’s incredible, overwhelming life be unleashed through us. Let us, as McKnight tells us, devote our lives to the Kingdom of God…to a life of loving God and loving others, and to a society shaped by justice for all people, no matter who they are.

The Spirit knows no limits. Empowered by this same incredible, firestorm of a Spirit, neither do we. So, let us break down those limits in our lives and let us live a full and completely unleashed life to its very fullest. Only when we do that, will we truly be living a life in that Spirit of life.

"Jesus Christ the Apple Tree"

I am all kinds of embarrassed: On Friday night my UCC friend, Justin Schwartz mentioned a hymn he played at his church called "Jesus Christ the Apple Tree."

I frowned when he said it and so I had him repeat the hymn title.

Jesus Christ the Apple Tree? I had never heard it before.

"It's beautiful!" Justin said.

Well, sure enough, I checked it out the next day and discovered one of the most hauntingly beautiful hymns I have ever heard. But more than just a lovely hymn, the words are striking. Each one drives deeply home.

Even more interesting to me is that, as wonderfully British as it may sound, it was actually sung in the hill country of the American south. In that context, it almost sounds like a Sacred Harp Song.

Whatever the case, it is an incredible hymn:

Jesus Christ the Apple Tree

The tree of life my soul hath seen
Laden with fruit and always green
The tree of life my soul hath seen
Laden with fruit and always green
The trees of nature fruitless be
Compared with Christ the applle tree

His beauty doth all things excel
By faith I know but ne'er can tell
His beauty doth all things excel
By faith I know but ne'er can tell
The glory which I now can see
In Jesus Christ the apple tree.

For happiness I long have sought
And pleasure dearly I have bought
For happiness I long have sought
And pleasure dearly I have bought
I missed of all but now I see
'Tis found in Christ the apple tree.

I'm weary with my former toil
Here I will sit and rest a while
I'm weary with my former toil
Here I will sit and rest a while
Under the shadow I will be
Of Jesus Christ the apple tree.

This fruit does make my soul to thrive
It keeps my dying faith alive
This fruit does make my soul to thrive
It keeps my dying faith alive
Which makes my soul in haste to be
With Jesus Christ the apple tree.

Elizabeth Poston (October 24, 1905 - March 18, 1987)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FigrgO8EAYA

6 Easter

Rogation Sunday
May 29, 2011

John 14.15-21


+ This past week I had lunch with a long-time friend of mine. She is a novelist—she’s published five fairly well-received novels—and she is also a Quaker. And in addition to that, she is also an avowed non-believer. Yes, you CAN be a non-believer and a Quaker, I guess.

Now I know you’re thinking: that priest has so many friends who are atheists and complete non-believers. And I do! Actually, I consider them a true blessing in my life. I don’t know what I would do without my non-believing friends. Because they do help keep things in a very perspective.

For example, at lunch this week, my friend was explaining how she was dealing with a bit of in-fighting at her Quaker meeting house. I actually thought it was somewhat humorous to hear about Quakers fighting among themselves—committed as they are to peace. With a very exasperated sigh, she said to me, “I have come to believe that organized religion really does contribute to a lot of the problems in the world.”

I couldn’t argue with her. I actually agree. And I believe most of us here this morning would agree as well. Organized religion—made up as it is by so many fallible, dysfunctional human beings—is bound to fail at times. But, then, so is any other human organization. And I truly believe that it’s actually politics that have consistently contributed to our human problems again and again throughout our history. And it doesn’t help when politics and religion combine.

The point, however, that she made was a valid one. We do fail miserably when we allow organized religion—as opposed to real spiritual living—to dominate.

In our Gospel reading for today we find Jesus explaining that although he is about to depart from his followers—this coming Thursday we celebrate the feast of Jesus’ Ascension to heaven—he will not leave them alone. They will be left with the Advocate—the Spirit of Truth. The Holy Spirit. He prefaces all of this with those words that quickly get swallowed up by the comments on the Spirit, “If you love me, you will keep my commandments.”

And just to remind everyone, that command is, of course, “to love.” To love God. And to love our neighbors as ourselves. This is what it means to be the Church. To love. To serve. To be Christ to those who need Christ. To be a Christ of love and compassion and acceptance. Without boundaries. Without discrimination. When we forget this, when we fail to do this, we become the religious organization my novelist friend despairs against.

Of course, following these commandments of Jesus is not easy. It is hard. And because it is hard, we find ways, again and again to remind us how to practice this radical love.

We are doing so this morning. Today is Rogation Sunday. Rogation comes the Latin word “Rogare” which means “to ask.” Traditionally, on this Sunday, we heard the Gospel in which Jesus said,

"Whatever you ask the Father in my name, he will give to you".

Today, with our current lectionary of scripture readings, we actually find him saying, “”I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Advocate…” From a very simple perspective, the thing we are asking today, on this Rogation Sunday, is to keep those commandments of Jesus.

Now for some of us, this whole idea of Rogation Sunday and the procession that we will soon be making outside at the conclusion of our Eucharist this morning might seem a bit too much. The fact is, it is something that has been done for centuries in our Anglican Tradition.

In the 1630s one of my all-time heroes (you hear me quote him and reference him often), Anglican priest and poet, George Herbert, commended these rogation processions. He said that processions should be encouraged for four reasons:

1. A Blessing of God for the fruits of the field.

2. Justice in the preservation of boundaries of those fields and properties.

3. Charity in loving, walking and neighborly accompanying one another with reconciling of differences at the time if there be any.

4. Mercie, in relieving the poor by a liberal distribution of largesse, which at the time is or ought to be used.

Now for us, as good city folk, we aren’t as concerned about the agricultural aspects of the Rogation blessing, at least not here at St. Stephen’s. But even here, in the city, we are thankful for our natural world.

It has been a long, hard winter. And this spring has left much to be desired. We have battled blizzards, snow and another particularly horrendous flood. But we are now enjoying the spring. The earth, that seemed so dead, so unforgiving, so bleak, is now alive.

What we are doing today is thanking God for this renewal. And we are asking God’s blessings on this growth. Because we are Christ to those who need Christ, we are asking that the blessings and abundance that come forth from this earth are shared with those who would not normally receive those blessings.

It’s not just a coincidence that Rogation Sunday falls within the Easter season. We are still in the Easter season. We are still celebrating that victory of Jesus’ resurrection, of how life does always win out over death. We Christians do know a few things about rebirth and renewal because we celebrate those themes every time we gather together and remember Jesus’ resurrection.

For us, modern Episcopalians, Rogation might mean something slightly different than it did for George Herbert. For us, we are reminded in our Rogation celebration that we are stewards of this natural world and we need to continue to be good stewards. We can not squander this natural world we have. But we have to preserve and respect it. We are also reminded that there is an inter-connectedness to the world around us. What happens in this natural world affects us—and affects us deeply, as we who live here in this part of the country know quite well. It is also a time for us to be mindful, as we always should, of relief of the poor. There are people who are not benefiting from the fruits of this earth. There are people who starving, who drinking unclean water, who are suffering from poverty and neglect, who are prey to insects carrying disease, who are suffering from famine and drought.

And there are people who are suffering from the affects of nature gone wild. There are people, this morning, who are homeless following the tornados that have been striking across the country. And there are people who mourning this morning for the loss of people in those storms.

Today, we are mindful of those facts. As you can see, the rallying themes of this Rogation time are hope and justice. And as George Herbert reminds us there is always room for charity.

As we process out at the end of the Eucharist today, I ask that you remember Jesus’ call to us, to love him and to keep his commandment of love. It is more than just sweet, religious talk. It is a challenge and a true calling to live out this love in radical ways. As we process, as we walk together, let us pay attention to this world around us. Let us ponder the causes and the effects of what it means to be inter-related—to be dependent upon on each to some extent, as we are on this earth. We do need each other. And we do need each other’s love. We do need that radical love that Jesus commands us to have.

With that love, we will truly love our neighbors as ourselves. Our neighbors are more than just those people who live next door to us. Our neighbors are all of us, those we do in fact love and those we have difficulty loving. And our neighbors also include this earth and all the inhabitants of it.

That command of Jesus is to love—to respect—those with whom we live and share this place. Let this procession today truly be a "living walking" as George Herbert put it. But let our whole lives as Christians be also a “living walk,” a mindful walk, a walk in which we see the world around with eyes of love and respect and justice and care.

5 Easter

May 22, 2011

Acts 7.55-60; John 14.1-14

+ As you were coming into church this morning I was trying to take account of who isn’t here this morning. I’m not taking attendance. I just wanted to see who was taken up in the Rapture that was predicted for yesterday.


I have to admit: these predictions of the “End Times” and conjecture about the end of the world did make me think a bit more than usual about “The End.” Now, I’m not certain about when or how the world will end. But I do know this—the world is going to end for each one of us one day. By that I mean, every one of us is going to die one day. I know that’s shocking for some of us, but it is a fact. But before we despair over such things, we should probably remind ourselves what our scriptures this morning said.

The Gospel we heard this morning is a familiar one for most of us. This is one of the Gospel readings recommended by the Book of Common Prayer for funerals. In fact, it is, by far, one of the most popular Gospel readings chosen for funerals. There’s little doubt why it is. It is wonderfully appropriate. The reason it is so popular is because it truly does give us a wonderful glimpse into what awaits us following our death.

This really is the BIG issue in our lives. We might not give it a lot of conscious thought, but no doubt most of us have pondered at some time in our lives, what awaits us following our death. The part we no doubt concentrate on in today’s Gospel are Jesus’ words “In my Father’s house there are many dwelling places.”

Traditionally, we have heard the word “mansions” used here, and I have never been shy in saying that I have always enjoyed the word “mansions.” I believe that these dwelling places awaiting us are truly the equivalent of mansions for us. I don’t believe that they’re actual mansion, mind you. I think Jesus is being very poetic in his description. But I think what he conveys is that God will provide something beautiful and wonderful for us.

And in our reading from Acts this morning, we get to catch an even clearer view of that beautiful and wonderful something that awaits us. In Acts we find our own dear, patron saint, St. Stephen, being dragged out by an angry mob and stoned to death. It’s certainly not pretty. But in the midst of that violence and anger, we find St. Stephen having a glorious vision. He looks up into heaven and is allowed a vision, in which he sees Jesus in the glory of God. And with his last words, he prays to Jesus,

“Lord Jesus, receive my spirit.”

This is the first recorded prayer to Jesus in the scriptures. And it is the most beautiful and most honest prayer St. Stephen could’ve prayed. So this, morning, in both our Gospel reading and our reading from Acts, we are confronted with glorious visions.

Now neither of them are as stupendous as the Rapture. But there is something wonderful in being able to look ahead and see what awaits us. It is wonderful to be able to see the joys and beauty of our place with God in heaven.

Still, knowing full well what awaits us, having been given glimpses into that glorious place that lies just beyond our vision, we still find ourselves digging in our heels when we have to face the fact of our own dying.

As you know, I teach a class called Suffering and Christian Healing at the University of Mary. One night, we were discussing the issue of dying. And I realized, as we talked, that there are a lot of books out there about the process of dying—there are books on what we will experience if we receive a terminal diagnosis, there are books on how to manage pain, there are books on facing psychologically and emotionally the process of dying. But there are few books that teach us actually about dying itself, from a spiritual point of view.

I remember once reading a book by the Roman Catholic saint, Alphonsus de Liguori, about how to die what he called a “happy death.” A happy death was not a death free of pain or suffering necessarily. A happy death was dying in the Presence of God. A happy death is a holy death.

This past week, we here at St. Stephen’s, had our first Film Night. It was arousing success, I have to say. We celebrated a very well attended Eucharist, then had a wonderful supper at Spicy Pie and then went to the film, Of Gods and Men, at the Fargo Theatre. This film was the perfect choice for our first film night. It was, to say the least, a powerful film—one that I still find myself pondering even this many days after.

The story is based on the actual event of the murder of seven Trappist monks n Algeria in May, 1996. In fact, yesterday was the fifteen anniversary of their murders. The final scene (I hope I don’t give too much away to any of you who go and see—and I do recommend you see it) shows the extremist Muslim guerrillas who kidnapped them from their monastery, leading the monks up the mountain through the snow, to the place where they would be murdered. On each face, we know the monks are fully aware of what awaits them. The film, in fact, deals with this issue. They each chose to stay in Algeria, in their monastery, serving those whom they were called to serve, knowing full-well that their staying in Algeria under those uncertain conditions might actually mean death.

In that final scene, there is no dialogue as they walk to the deaths. The camera captures close ups of each monk’s face before it closes with a long shot of the monks and their murderers disappearing into the snow. Each monk appears to be collected. Some are praying. Some are not. But each face is focused on what lies ahead. And although there is sadness, there is shock, there is fear, there is also certainty. There is also resolution. And there are no regrets on any one of those faces.

Certainly, from the perspective of those monks, this was truly a “happy death.” Again, I stress that a happy death does not mean a death without suffering and pain. It simply means a death in which one is collected and is centered on God’s Presence at that moment.

This kind of thinking might seem a bit strange to us non Roman Catholics. We just aren’t used to thinking about such a thing as a “happy death” or a “good death.” The whole idea seems like some kind of oxymoron. “Happy” and “death” just don’t go together in way of our thinking. But it is a good thing to think about occasionally.

Certainly there are few books to teach us non-Roman Catholics about how

to die a happy and holy death. As a priest, I can say that I have known many people who, when faced with their deaths, simply don’t know how to die and don’t know how to look at their dying as a way of moving into God’s presence. And even fewer know how to prepare themselves spiritually for dying.

In our Book of Common Prayer, we have a beautiful prayer that is prayed for someone near death. It can be found on page 462. There we find this prayer,

“Almighty God, look your servant, lying in great weakness, and comfort ‘this person’, with the promise of life everlasting, given in the resurrection of your Son Jesus Christ our Lord.”

“Comfort ‘this person’ with the promise of life everlasting”

This promise of eternal life, as we have seen in the Resurrection, should truly be a comfort to us, especially in those moments when we fear death. Thinking about our own deaths is isn’t necessarily morbid or unpleasant. It simply reminds us that we are mortal. We will all die one day.

But rather than despairing over that fact, we should use it as an opportunity to draw closer to God. We should use it as an opportunity to live a more holy life. And hopefully, living a more holy life, we can pray at that last moment—that holy moment—with true conviction, that wonderful prayer of St. Stephen, the first martyr:

“Lord Jesus, receive my spirit.”

Although it’s probably not the most pleasant thought to have that we are going to die, I think it is important to think about occasionally. The reason we should think about it—and the reason we shouldn’t despair in thinking about it—is because, for a Christian, dying is not a horrible thought.

Dying is not a reason to fear. Because, by dying, we do come to life everlasting—life with end. And although we, at this moment, can’t imagine it as being a “happy” or “holy” moment, the fact is, it will be. It will be the holiest moment of our life and it will be the happiest moment of our life.

For Stephen, who died abused, in pain, bleeding from those sharp stones that fell upon him, it was a happy and holy moment when he looked up and saw Jesus waiting for him. He was happy because he knew he would soon be received by Jesus and it was holy because, at that moment, his faith was fulfilled. That place toward which we are headed—that place in God’s house—we will find our true home. Heaven—is truly our happy home, the place toward which we are wandering around, searching. And we will not find our rest until we rest there, and we will not be fully and completely happy until we are surrounded by the happiness there.

So, let us look forward to that place in which Jesus has prepared a place for us. It awaits us. It there, right at this moment, just beyond our vision. Let us look to it with joy and let us live in joy until we are there together. Amen.

4 Easter

Good Shepherd Sunday
May 15, 2011

John 10.1-10


+ Twenty-seven years ago this month, I was called to the Priesthood. It wasn’t a dramatic event—I wasn’t blinded by a light. I didn’t hear any voices. Just one day when I was thirteen years old, I KNEW I wanted to be a priest. Now, when I tell people about that they think it was just a kind of smooth, clean transition. They think that this calling was there with me, all those years, through all that schooling, until the day I was finally ordained. The fact is, it wasn’t that smooth. In fact, for the better part of ten years—during all my twenties—I tried to avoid this calling. I ran from the calling. Yes, I worked in churches—four years in a United Methodist Church. Yes, I studied and prayed.

But I also struggled. And I resisted. But despite the fact that I did so, I found that the calling was more persistent than I initially thought. Toward the end of that struggle I came across a poem. It was a poem I knew well before then, but only toward the end of my decade-long struggle, did this poem really speak to me where I was.

The poem is a kind of classic. It’s called “The Hound of Heaven.” It was written by a drug-addicted, tortured young man that we would no doubt today call a slacker. Francis Thompson, who died in 1907, wrote the poem during one of those difficult times in his life. The poem begins like this:

I fled Him, down the nights and down the days;
I fled Him, down the arches of the years;
I fled Him, down the labyrinthine ways
Of my own mind; and in the midst of tears
I hid from Him, and under running laughter.
Up vistaed hopes I sped;
And shot, precipitated,
Adown Titanic glooms of chasmed fears,
From those strong Feet that followed, followed after.
But with unhurrying chase,
And unperturbed pace,
Deliberate speed, majestic instancy,

They beat - and a Voice beat
More instant than the Feet -
'All things betray thee, who betrayest Me'.

I won’t read the whole poem to you, but the gist of the poem is this: In it, a person is trying to avoid Christ. But Christ, like a hound, does not let the poet off. In fact, as much as the person tires to avoid Christ, Christ keeps on, doggedly chasing after him, on “strong Feet that followed, followed after.
But with unhurrying chase,
And unperturbed pace,

It was when I read this poem with eyes wide open that I realized that this is how God sometimes works. God sometimes, like that Hound, does chase us. God does nip at us and chase us wherever we think we might go to avoid God. God is unrelenting in the chase, I came to realize. Certainly this was so in my life and in my calling to the priesthood.

Now, I shared this poem once not long after I made the connection in my own life and the person I shared it with was somewhat offended:

“Jesus, as a Hound—as a Dog!” she said.

For her, it was sacrilegious to make the comparison. And for some time I did avoid sharing the poem. Then, I read, not too long, this very interesting comment from the Anglican theologian John Stott.

“Is it appropriate…to liken God to a hound?” Stott asks. He then went on to say that R.M. Gautry concedes that “there are good hounds as well as bad hounds, and that especially admirable are collies, which range the Scottish Highlands in search of lost sheep.”

Stott further shares “the theme of searching sheepdogs (or, more accurately, of searching shepherds)” occurs often in scripture.

Today, of course, we experience one of those themes in our Gospel readings. Today is Good Shepherd Sunday—the Sunday in which we encounter this wonderful reading about Jesus being the Good Shepherd. Jesus describes himself in today’s Gospel as the Good Shepherd. This is probably one of the most perfect images Jesus could have used for the people listening to him. They would have understood what a good shepherd was and what a bad shepherd was. The good shepherd was the shepherd who actually cared for his flock. He looked out for them, he watched them. The Good Shepherd guided the flock and led the flock. He guided and led the flock to a place to eat.

This is an important aspect of the role of the Good Shepherd. The Good Shepherd didn’t feed the flock. Rather the good shepherd led the flock to the choicest green pastures and helped them to feed themselves. In this way, the Good Shepherd is more than just a coddling shepherd. He is not the co-dependent shepherd. The Good Shepherd doesn’t take each sheep individually, pick them up, and hand-feed the sheep. Rather, he guides and prods and leads the sheep to green pastures and allows them feed themselves. The Good Shepherd also protects the flock against the many dangers out there.

If we follow the Good Shepherd, if we allow ourselves to be led by him to the Gate, we find that incredible reward of green pastures awaiting us. And even if we don’t follow, if we stray, we will find him prodding us. We will find him nipping at us like the sheep hound.

But, with our eyes on the Shepherd, with Hound nipping at us from behind, we know that the bad things that happen to us will not destroy us, because the Shepherd is there, close by, watching out for us. We know that in those bad times—those times of darkness when predators close in, when storms rage—he will be there for us.

More importantly the Good Shepherd knows his flock. He knows each of the sheep. If one is lost, he knows it is lost and will not rest until it is brought back into the fold. He will go after that lost sheep, like the Hound. In our collect for today [from the Book of Common Prayer], there is this wonderful reference,

“Grant that when we hear his voice, we may know him who calls us each by name…’

This is the kind of relationship we have with Jesus as the Good Shepherd. We are know him because he knows us. He knows us and calls us each by our name. In Jesus, we don’t have some vague, distant God. We don’t have a God who lets us fend for ourselves. We instead have a God who leads us and guides us, a God who knows us each by name, a God who despairs over the loss of even one of the flock and goes after us, chasing us down.

John Stott, in talking of the poem “The Hound of Heaven,” writes.

"Francis Thompson was expressing what is true of every Christian…If we love Christ, it is because he loved us first. If we are Christians at all, it is not because we have decided for Christ, but because Christ has decided for us. It is because of the pursuit of ‘this tremendous lover.’”

We have a God who, in loving us, leads us and guides us and follows us from behind, then allows us to pass through him into a place wherein we will feast. This image of the Good Shepherd is more than some sweet, gentle image we apply to Jesus. As Christians, as followers of Jesus the Good Shepherd, we are also called to be good shepherds to those around us. All of us who are called to ministry—and we all, as Christians, are ministers and we have each been called, in our own ways—know that to be truly effective ministers we have to be good shepherds. We should be helping others toward the Gate, and through the Gate into that green pasture. We should be nudging an prodding each other along. And we should be concerned about those who have fallen away, who have been led astray. This is what it means to do ministry.

So, on this day in which we celebrate the Shepherd who leads and guides, on this Sunday in which also commemorate the Hound of Heaven, who follows behind, prodding us and nudging us forward toward the gate, let us allow ourselves to be led. On this day that we look to the Shepherd who guides, let us be guided. Let us allow ourselves to be led by that Great Good Shepherd, who brings us to himself, to the very Gate. Let us listen for those “strong Feet that followed, followed after
… with unhurrying chase,
And unperturbed pace,
Deliberate speed, majestic instancy,”

And there, either led or prodded, let us go through the Gate, that goal of our spiritual lives, into that glorious place we have longed for all our existence. And when we are there, in that glorious place, let us rejoice in our God and in each other. Let us know that the joy we will experience there will be a joy that is never taken from us. Amen.