My last sermon at St. Paul's.

Thomas gets a bum rap, being labeled as “doubting” Not that he didn’t doubt, but his doubting wasn’t unique—the other disciples doubted too. Thomas’ doubting, as told by John in today’s Gospel, just gets more airtime, being read the second Sunday of Easter every year. But there’s plenty of doubt in the other Gospels. In the 24th Chapter of Luke, when Jesus appears to the others in the locked upper room on Easter night, he asks why “doubt has arisen” in their hearts? In these early days of Easter doubt isn’t the sole property of Thomas.

Doubt isn’t a bad thing, it’s just a human thing.
Doubt isn’t denying, it’s not condemning. It’s a time of bewilderment, a time of question---doubt comes when things aren’t clear---when all the evidence isn’t yet in or all the evidence hasn’t crystallized in our brains yet. Doubt is common when all that we know to be—the order of our world---is shattered.

When I lived and worked as a psychotherapist in suburban Chicago I served on a disaster response team. Our job was to mobilize in natural and human made disasters, being among the first responders to the scene. One Labor Day evening we were called out to a railroad crossing in a nearby village. A last blast of summer festival had been going on and a group of high school kids were hanging out by the railroad crossing when an express Amtrak train came down the track, striking and killing a local high school sophomore. I had the difficult task of informing the girl’s mother of her death. When given the terrible news, the mother calmly looked at me and said, “No that’s impossible, she was at the movies.” In that instance she was denying reality---then it hit her and she fell to the ground, sobbing. For those first few moments, she doubted the message I had delivered. She doubted that anything this horrible could possibly happen, but soon her brain began to assimilate it and the tragic truth became clear.
But it’s not only bad news that can be met with doubt, good news can be equally difficult to fathom.
Whether it’s the people on tv who’ve won the publishers’ clearinghouse, or finding out you’ve gotten the job of your dreams or hearing that the cancer is gone----good news can take some time to sink in.

Doubt buys us time for the joy to fully engage, it buys us time to gird ourselves against the bad.

Doubt gives us time to catch up to the reality of our lives.

And in those first few hours, those first few days following the crucifixion, the reality of the disciples’ life wasn’t pretty. The king they loved they denied, the rulers they feared they defied. It wasn’t a good time to be one of Jesus’ followers…so when they hear from Mary Magdalene that Jesus is alive do they run out looking for him carried by this thrilling and joyous news?
No, they remain paralyzed by their doubt, immobilized by their fear, stuck in their shame. Remember they had abandoned and denied Jesus. They had let him down in his greatest hour of need. And now he was alive? Uh oh. Human nature would dictate that the disciples must have feared that Jesus’ would be MAD. The disciples while thrilled that Jesus was alive, may have had some trepidation about seeing him again. But this time the disciples could not run and hide. For even while huddled behind locked doors, Jesus appears, not in anger or disappointment but in Peace and Love. He doesn’t say How could you? He says Peace Be With You. He doesn’t re-hash their failings of the past week, but commissions them to go out and spread the Good News of Peace to the world. Jesus accepts their failings and loves them. Jesus rejects their fear and loves them. This is radical. This is shocking. This can take some getting used to!
And even though they had heard it hundreds of times before, even though we hear it, week in and week out, this simple message of love peace and forgiveness is really difficult to understand; it can be difficult to accept.

Thomas, along with the other disciples, needed to see the reality of Jesus’ resurrection before they could "get it." Their doubt wasn’t a lack of faith, it wasn’t that they didn’t believe, they just didn’t understand.

Thomas’ doubt bought him time to comprehend all that had happened, so that, when he saw Jesus for himself he could proclaim, “My Lord and My God.” Thomas’ doubt led his faith to a place of understanding. Thomas, given time, Got It.

Today, the emotional roller coaster of Holy Week is over, we’ve proclaimed Christ risen, we’ve shouted Alleluia, we’ve rejoiced in the new light of Christ.
Today we sit back, along with Thomas and the other disciples, fully aware of what we are capable of---killing God in the flesh—and aware of what God is capable of: peace and forgiveness. This astonishing realization of what we can and sometimes do and what God always does, is shocking and takes some getting used too.

So today we begin the process of clearing the doubt from our hearts and minds and embracing the Truth as given to us through Jesus Christ. The truth that we’ve been entrusted with the same task Jesus gave the disciples: to go out into the world seeking and serving Christ in everyone we meet. To offer peace and forgiveness to everyone: those we may not understand, those we may not even like and even those who may scare us. Today, as Jesus sends his disciples out into the world, I am reminded of what brought me through the doors of this Cathedral church nine years ago: the promise that this place offered hospitality healing and hope. It is promise that you fulfilled and a promise I know you will continue to fulfill. It has been a joy to be among you as a parishioner and it has been an honor and privilege to serve you as priest. Thank you.
AMEN.

Easter Vigil 2010

+Some of you have heard me mention that, several years ago, a 9 year old girl asked me why we go through Holy Week every year. After all, she said, we know it works out in the end! Of course we do know how the story ends and tonight we stand at the dramatic and glorious climax of the Holy Week Drama—an empty tomb, a risen Christ—but, as I told that young lady a few years ago---we must walk through the drama of Holy Week each and every year because although the story doesn’t change, we do. We need the reminder, we need the journey. To paraphrase a history professor I had years ago, why does history repeat itself? Because people change. We need the same old story to guide us in the new varied and divergent paths our lives take. We change, God doesn’t. We forget, God remembers. We stray, God remains steady.

And so we journey….from the triumphal march into Jerusalem, to the loneliness and despair of the garden, the bitter trial, the agony of the cross, the silence of death and finally, the joy of resurrection. What a walk!

Tonight we heard the story of salvation. From the first glimmer of new light we heard of God’s saving efforts throughout the ages, from the Red Sea to the dry bones, from Bethlehem to Jerusalem, from Gethsemane to Calvary, from life to death and life again.
Tonight we have been given in clear and certain terms: A New Life in Christ. In a few moments, Elijah Michael Cumbo-Burris will, through his baptism, be sealed as Christ’s own forever. And through this sacrament of Baptism each of us will renew our commitment to Christ as well as our commitment to see Christ in all whom we encounter. How easy it is for us to lose our way. How easy it is for us to forget.
So, how does Elijah, as he begins his life in Christ, remember the promise of Easter amidst the inevitability of Holy Week. How do any of us keep an Easter faith in our own personal Holy Weeks, our own moments of doubt, despair loneliness and fear?

Elijah will do well if he remembers the lessons of Holy Week throughout his life. I think we all would do well to remember what we’ve learned through this Holiest of weeks.

Palm Sunday: triumph has different meanings. I don’t think anyone really knew what to expect when Jesus marched into Jerusalem. No doubt many of the disciples thought that in Jerusalem, Jesus would topple the civic and religious structure of the day. I’m not sure any of them thought victory could come from the cross and the tomb. Elijah, don’t expect that the victory of your life will always look how you think it will. Sometimes victory comes swaddled in rags, born in a barn and killed like a common criminal.

Maundy Thursday. It’s important to take time for fellowship. Sit with family and friends—break bread together. The bonds formed over the dinner table are fierce and will hold, come what may. Sometimes, words are not needed. Sometimes those we love simply need someone to sit with them, to bear witness to the pain they are enduring. We can’t take pain away from others, but we can be a silent witness. Elijah, never underestimate the power of your presence.

Good Friday: There will be times when your beliefs will be challenged, when you will be tempted to deny what you believe to be true and right because it isn’t popular or it’s too scary to stand up for what you know to be true. Elijah, stand up for what is right as best you can, and when you falter remember that God stands at the ready, waiting for you—for all of us-- to come home where forgiveness always reigns.

Holy Saturday. Where is God? As Benedictine nun and author Joan Chittister says: “The importance of Holy Saturday lies in its power to bring us to the kind of faith the spiritual masters call “mature.” Holy Saturday faith is not about counting our blessings; it is about dealing with darkness and growing in hope”
Elijah, there will be days when you will feel utterly alone and bereft. Know that deep within that sadness, at the very bottom of the well of loneliness there’s a small still voice weeping with you and for you, sharing in your pain. You may not feel it, but know that it is there and that you can count on it. None of us is ever alone, no matter what.
Easter—the Resurrection— Just as quickly as you find yourself in the depths of despair you will find yourself relieved and released from the pain. Suddenly it will be gone. The sadness will lift and joy will again reign. For as you journey through your Christian life Elijah, you will have ups and down. You’ll have your share of Easter joys and Good Friday losses. But---and this is the most important lesson any of us can take from our Christian journey----Holy week always ends in Easter, Darkness always gives way to light, and sin always loses out to grace and truth and love. Alleluia, Elijah and Alleluia to all of us--The Lord is Risen Indeed!
+

Sermon for Lent 4c: God's Prodigious Love

Today’s Gospel begins with Jesus being harangued by the Pharisees…so what’s new, right? They’re ticked off because he’s been cavorting with sinners, hanging out with the wrong people, doing things he shouldn’t have been doing. According to the social mores, as established by the Pharisees, Jesus was breaking all the rules. Like I said, what else is new?
And, as is his custom, Jesus answers the charges with a parable.
The parable of the prodigal son is said to be the most famous. This is no surprise really--- we all know this guy don’t we? We all have a sibling, co-worker, neighbor or friend who is just like the Prodigal Son. A pain in the youknowhat.
But, Methodist pastor and author Grace Imathiu (“imayathu”) reminds us of prodigal’s actual definition. Prodigal doesn’t mean problem and prodigal doesn’t mean loser. Prodigal means to give or yield profusely and extravagantly. A prodigal person is someone who does things in a BIG way. Prodigal is the root for prodigious as in, “the rest of the country thinks Buffalo gets a prodigious amount of snow, when we know that Syracuse is really the Prodigious Snow Capital of the New York.” This young man did his rebellion prodigiously.
But, back to these prodigal people we know—you know, the person who squanders their money, their good will, their responsibilities….all to the chagrin of you and me. We’re like the elder brother aren’t we? We do things the right way. We take care of business. We follow the rules, do what’s expected of us and when these prodigals saunter in and out of our lives we’re resentful, bitter, exasperated…maybe even whiny. It’s annoying-- they get the party don’t they? They get the fatted calf, the jewels, the nice clothes….the hugs.
Many of us here today are thinking about the prodigals in our lives. A few of us are even admitting— to ourselves-- that we, at times, are the prodigal.
Regardless of whether we are the lost who has been found or the always here and feeling taken for granted, we have a place in this story.
Barbara Brown Taylor has written a number of reflections on this parable. One is entitled the Prodigal Father. Other folks have written about the Prodigal Elder brother. It seems people have different interpretations of who is the recklessly extravagant one in the story.
The father, according to Taylor is the reckless one. After all, in ancient middle eastern society, the father did not run after a wayward son, meeting him on the road---where everyone could see—and lavish him with love before the boy could even utter the most base of apologies. A father in Jesus’ time did not forgive without penance. It just wasn’t done. But in this story it was done. Because that’s how Jesus’ parables go---they take what is expected and do the unexpected.
Others have referred to this as the parable of the Prodigal elder brother who is reckless in his rejection of his younger brother and abundant in his resentment of his father. This older brother has a prodigious amount of resentment, hurt feelings and disappointment.
And of course we have the younger brother, the original Prodigal who so boorishly grabs what isn’t his to grab and goes off to live a life of fast living and lousy investments, only to find himself sitting in the actual and spiritual filth of a pigs.
But, in the end, he hits rock bottom, he “comes to himself.” In 12 step lingo this is called “admitting you are powerless and your life has become unmanageable.” You see, in the practice of the 12 steps one cannot move forward with recovery until one has sat in that hog slop, has come to realize the complete mess our life and then -- ever so slowly-- ask for help. Our prodigal son does just this. And in the wisdom that comes when you have nothing left to lose, he knows this help will be his for the taking if he simply goes home and asks for forgiveness.
Now it can be debated whether the prodigal was really sorry---perhaps he was really hungry, really tired and really scared—but was he really sorry? We don’t know. We’re not told.
Because it doesn’t matter. In this parable, in the 12 step groups and in our life with God, amendment of life doesn’t begin with awareness of how sorry we really are. No amendment of life begins with admitting that we’re powerless, that our way hasn’t gotten us where we want to—should be. Our way has gotten us in our own version of a pig sty envious of the food given to the hogs and sure of only one thing: that we’re NOT where we want to be. So we trudge home, ready to beg for forgiveness, not because we really mean it, but because we really NEED it.
And lo and behold, what happens? What happens to the Prodigal in our story? He, before he can utter his well rehearsed apology, before he can beg his father to at least give him an opportunity to be one of his slaves, his father races out to meet him, lavishing him with kisses and brings him home to a fancy robe, beautiful jewelry and a sumptuous feast.
This is not as uncommon as we may think. When that AA member attend their first meeting, full of shame and fear, before they can even tell their tale of woe and despair they hear it in the stories of the others sitting around that table. So without uttering a word, they are given a cup of coffee a smile, a hug and are told: it’s ok, you’re safe now. Welcome home.
And you know what happens when we stray and become lost, finally returning to trudge up the steps of this Cathedral and settle into a pew? We hear the words of the Prodigal Father who says to the Prodigal Elder Brother--the one who doesn’t quite understand or like that his wayward brother is being treated like a prince---- “he was lost and now he is found”—we hear that we’re loved, our sins forgiven and we’re invited to join in the feast of our Lord, where we hear: “Now there is rejoicing in heaven, for you were lost and now are found, you were dead and are now alive in Christ Jesus our Lord”(BCP pg 451, The Reconciliation of a Penitent) .
For all of us have and will get lost. And each of us can and will be found. And when we are? That’s when the party begins. +

Sermon for Lent 2C

**this sermon is based, in large part, on an essay written by Kae Evensen in the 2.23.10 issue of The Christian Century

+I am no astronomer but I do know that the night sky, the beautiful wash of stars we see above are actually the stars as they existed thousands and in some cases millions of years ago, The light which emanates from these stars, most of which are millions of miles from earth can take many thousands of light years to reach earth. Now be careful…if you are anything like me, trying to wrap your brain around this information may make you dizzy. The bottom line is, the light produced by the stars Abram gazed upon? It quite possibly has not reached earth yet. The light, which holds that promise of God, has yet to arrive. God’s promise is still unfolding!! God was and is and is to come, and just when we think we’ve gotten a handle on what this whole God thing means to us, we hear something like the speed of light and what that means about the sky we think we are seeing as it is RIGHT now, and our whole perspective is blown to bits.
Homiletics professor and Lutheran pastor Kae Evensen says that the light of that sky, the sky of Abram and Sarai, the sky of Genesis, the sky of that promise, that first covenant of God, is the promise of things to come. All that has happened from Abraham and Sarah to Mary and Joseph to all our ancestors, to all those who have walked before us, fuels what is to come.
Even the doubts.
Abram, a man of deep faith who clearly had found favor with God, had doubts. The world, as he experienced it, was often overwhelming. We hear it today, after his encounter with God, when Abram falls into a deep sleep and a “deep and terrifying darkness descended upon him.” Abram was scared out of his wits. Abram, was having a dark night of the soul. A night so dark, that even the promise of God couldn’t keep the fear at bay.
Oddly, I find this comforting. That all of who have come before, even the greatest prophets of all, had doubts. Jesus himself had doubts. The human condition promises that we’ll doubt, we’ll fear, that we’ll have our share of dark nights and terrifying dreams. And so, like many who have come before us, and, I’m sure, those who will come after, we try very hard to keep those fears and doubts ---which lurk just around the corner of our consciousness—at bay.
And we do this by being busy, by keeping the volume of our lives turned way up. We do this by avoiding silence, by resisting the quieting of our souls.
The nature of our humanity is to fear the silence, to resist the dark and to recoil from the reaching out of God’s embrace. But, as one author has put it: God’s habit is to draw near. God does not want to and will not stay out of reach in the heavens.
While it may be difficult for us to fathom the extent of God’s love for us, I think the metaphor of mother hen, which is used several times in scripture and is referenced by Jesus in today’s Gospel, is helpful. For whether you are a mother, or have witnessed the love a mother has for her children , this image rings true. Have you ever gotten in between a mother and her chicks, cubs, pups, child? Have you ever mistakenly suggested to a mother how she may better parent her child? Have you ever, whether inadvertently or not, ticked off a mother?
It isn’t pretty.
Because a mother’s love for her child is an instinctual gut level love. There isn’t anything intellectual about it. It just is.
God’s love for us is the same: God desires nothing more than to gather us—each of us---under the loving expanse of God’s wings, protecting us from harm, holding us close.
It’s warm under those wings, cozy….but before you know it, that warmth, that coziness begins to stifle, our own reach feels stymied and we struggle to break free and to wander out on our own. And God, like any loving parent, let’s us go because God knows that is just what we need to do….for God also knows that one day, when perhaps we’ve wandered just a tad too far and we no longer feel sure, when we’re engulfed in a deep darkness, when we no longer feel safe, we’ll come running back, eager to scurry under those outstretched wings, ready to feel the comforting embrace of our creator.
Jesus’ use of this image comes as he laments all that Jerusalem has seen all that Jerusalem has done, and all that has yet to happen there to him. Jesus cries this lament with his face firmly turned toward that city of his forebears, that city which destroys prophets, that city which has rejected God’s love time and time again. I don’t know how much Jesus knew about his fate in Jerusalem. Yes, he knew that he would be martyred there, and perhaps he even knew that his friends would abandon him one by one. But I wonder, did Jesus realize how much all of that would hurt? Did Jesus realize how painful abandonment is, how scary loneliness is, how dark the night would become in Gethsemene?
Did God know how much all of this would hurt Jesus? Did God know how much that hurt would pain Him?
Does any parent?
This vulnerable flesh and bones incarnation of God had a dark night. This God in the person of Jesus, felt the terror of Abram. Jesus felt the loneliness of an existence where God can seem so far away, so absent. And Jesus, this God made man, knew how terrifying silence could be. But Jesus also walked through that dark night. Jesus endured that silence and came out the other side. Jesus dove into the depths of death, emerging from it so that we, no matter how lost we may feel, no matter how scared we may be, no matter how mad we may act, can look into the night sky and remember that no matter how far we feel from God, God is, always has been and always will be right here. Sometimes we just have to get quiet enough, still enough and sometimes, scared enough, to notice.
In the darkest of nights, we need only look to the stars and realize that the light we see from those stars is the light of Abraham, it is the light of our ancestors. No matter how lost we may feel, how lonely it might seem how long and hard the road is, we have the company of all those who have gone before us, all those who, themselves, had many a dark and lonely night. And somewhere, through the darkness, they, too were warmed by the light of those who had gone before. +

Life Happens in the Valley TranSfiguration Sunday 2010

Today is a day of bookends. With the Transfiguration of Christ we have a glimpse-- along with Peter, James and John-- Christ’s glory, to be fully revealed on Easter morning. But with the Transfiguration and God’s proclamation that this Jesus is His Chosen and we are to listen to him reminds us of God’s anointing of Jesus at his baptism. On this last Sunday in Epiphany, the season of Christ manifested in the world, on this Sunday before Lent, our 40 day journey to Calvary; we look ahead, we glance behind and we take stock of where we are in our own faith journeys, considering how Christ’s glory is manifested in our daily lives.

Episcopal priest Adam Thomas, writing in a recent issue of the Christian Century magazine, says that the Transfiguration isn’t so much about the change in Jesus’ appearance, or about the appearance of Moses and Elijah, or even about the proclamation of God in the cloud. …instead, says Thomas, the Transfiguration is about how a glimpse of the Holy, an experience of the Divine, transformed the disciples, and how it can transform us. There is no doubt that exposure to the Holy, to the Divine, casts a physical change—Moses’ skin shone, Jesus’ face and clothes glisten with a whiteness beyond description—but the real change, the everlasting change, is what happens internally, spiritually, when one confronts the sacred--is in the presence of the Holy. What matters is how that experience changes us, how we carry that experience with us in our day-to-day lives.
According to Biblical scholar Fred Craddock, mountain top experiences are fine and dandy , but where the rubber really meets the road is what happens when we come down off the mountain, when we enter the valley; where the light has faded, the sheen dulled and the dirt and grime of daily life takes over.
Craddock and Thomas are on to something here…because Christianity isn’t about mountaintops, it’s about valleys. If it was about mountaintops then Jesus wouldn’t have been born in a barn, to peasant parents from a backwater town. If our faith was about mountaintops Jesus would not have been executed like a common criminal, hung on a tree, mocked and scourged. If our faith was all about mountaintops Jesus’ followers wouldn’t have been a doubting band of disciples who fell asleep at a drop of a hat, doubted at the slightest turn of fortune or denied their teacher in times of greatest need. No this faith of ours is definitely the faith of the valley. This faith of ours gets lived out in our day-to-day lives because Christianity is less about fancy and more about simple.

Unfortunately we often forget that even down here in the valley, sacred things happen all the time. The Holy can pop up anywhere.
The retired Bishop of Maine, Chilton Knudsen, recently posted an article about her visit with Rev. Fernande Sanon Pierre-Louis, the only woman priest in Haiti, principal of Holy Trinity School and a survivor of last month’s earthquake. Bishop Chilton visited Mother Fernande in Montreal where she is recuperating at her son’s home. Chilton remarked that, while visiting this woman of grace and courage, she felt as if she should remove her shoes, for surely, to quote Bp Chilton, it was Holy Ground where this simple unassuming woman of God walked. The sacred isn’t usually glamorous and the Holy needn’t be in some transfigured glory. Usually, God is just right here, walking with us on our journey through the valley of life.
But, who can blame Peter for wanting to erect tents, to freeze the moment of glory atop the mountain, to linger in the wisdom and wonder of Elijah, Moses and Jesus? That’s far more appealing than going back down among the demanding, misunderstanding crowds. Peter must think—this is it…Jesus will be crowned King and soon all the oppressors, the high priests, the governor and the emperor will be brought down to their knees and they, this rag tag band of tentmakers, fishermen tax collectors and women will rise to glory, led by the King of Kings. Once again Peter says the right thing but then does the wrong thing. Because Peter, just like all of us, sees the Transfiguration but fails to feel the transformation.

Everyone has experienced this in one form or another---we have some momentous experience—a moment when we feel that we have been truly touched by God and we swear, we swear that this is it, we will change our ways, we’ll never forget this, we’ll turn over a new leaf…but it doesn’t last. It doesn’t last because the high of that moment, the amazing moment of awareness that shining moment of enlightenment cannot be sustained. It can’t be sustained because it isn’t on the mountaintop where life happens, it’s down in the valley.

That’s why our Gospel reading today is so long. The designers of our lectionary allow us to end the Gospel reading just as Jesus James John and Peter are heading down the mountain, but today we keep going, we listen to the “rest of the story. “ They arrive at the foot of the moment to a throng of people, especially a father crying out to Jesus to heal his demon-afflicted son. A healing the other disciples had been unable to achieve.

And it is here, at this point of our Gospel lesson, that the true meaning of transformation becomes clear. All the experiences of the Holy, all the sacred feelings, all the Transfigurations will not heal this world. What heals this world is a people who do as God directed on the mountain, to Listen to His Son, his Chosen One. We are to love one another as he loves us, we are to love our God with all our heart and with all our soul and with all our mind. We are to find the sacred in the mundane, we are to find the holy in the ordinary and we are to be transformed by the routine. For our faith is not the faith of royalty, it is the faith of peasants. Ours is not the faith of the powerful, it is the faith of the weak and it is not the faith of the mountaintop it is the faith of the valley.
So today we put our alleluias away for awhile and we live into the fullness of the incarnation as we journey with Jesus to Jerusalem, the cross and the tomb. Today we climb off the mountaintop of the nativity and the Epiphany to walk this walk in the valley, not a walk of despair and hopelessness but a walk of faith, faith that we are following the Chosen One and that we, along with him, are God’s beloved.

Amen

The Exquisite Love of God, Bursting Out All Over Epiphany 2 Yr C

Mom. C’mon. Stop It. Mom, just leave me alone. It’s a familiar drill. A young adult accompanies his mother to a family event—Thanksgiving, Christmas, a funeral, a wedding---and mom wants junior to show off for the guests. …..the mom is proud as can be and wants the world to know. The son is mortified, preferring to remain in the background, to do his familial duty and then get out of there. Conflict ensues. It’s a drama played out over and over again in our lives.
The Wedding in Cana is no different. Mary feels for the host, who has run out of wine and sees a perfect opportunity for Jesus to reveal his glory and help the host save face. A fully human family conflict played out within the Holy Family.

This story of water being turned into wine is one in a series of Epiphany tales, beginning with the visit of the magi and ending with Jesus’ transfiguration on the mountaintop. Each of these stories point toward one truth of Jesus’ nature—his divinity…but today’s Gospel does something more-- it also discloses his humanity. Jesus responds to his mother with the irritation common in most young adult-parent relationships. While the miracle aspect of this story garners the most attention, the wedding in Cana also serves as a post script to the nativity story, proof that Jesus was fully human as well as fully divine.

Besides today’s Gospel, another familiar story illuminates the fullness of Jesus’ humanity within the fullness of his divinity: the Boy Jesus in the Temple. You remember that story---Jesus and his family travel to the temple for the Passover . As the family heads for home, Mary and Joseph realize Jesus isn’t with them,. Three frantic days later they find him sitting among the teachers, discussing and asking questions. Jesus is incredulous when his mother rebukes him for worrying them feeling that her hysteria was an over-reaction. A typical adolescent response to the worry of a parent.
So, while becoming aware of Jesus’ divinity---the promised messiah--is the usual task in Epiphany, we musn’t forget his humanity.

Since Advent we’ve been told that this was going to happen, a boy, born of a woman would come among us as the Son of God. Fully God, Fully Human.
But hearing this and “getting it” are two different things.
And, that’s what epiphanies are all about ---getting it.

Getting that Jesus is God in the flesh. Getting Jesus feels all that we feel, experiencing the world as a human , while also, through his divinity, transforming us into something altogether new.

And that’s where the miracle at the wedding comes into play. That’s when this miracle—this sign as John calls it---shows us that through the very human person of Jesus, God has chosen to dwell among us, to experience his creation first hand. At a wedding.

But, the wine is running out and the wedding host is in danger of being shamed in a very public way. Although Jesus doesn’t feel that his time has arrived, he acquiesces and saves the day.
But, the miracle at Cana isn’t done simply to save the wedding day….it’s done to show us that this Son of God is here to save us in a completely new way.
The water used in the miracle is in large stone jars used for Jewish rites of purification---a cornerstone of the old covenant… From the restrictions of the old emerges the hope and joy of the new.
Much like new wine bursts old wineskins, God, through Jesus bursts out of the old in a big, abundant and extravagant way. It wasn’t that Jesus created a few extra bottles of wine out of water. Jesus created gallons and gallons of wine---exquisite, fabulous wine, out of those stone jars. This first miracle of Jesus is not just a little something. It’s a whole lot of something big. It’s abundant and it’s bursting out all over.
Because that’s what God gives us. Not just enough, but plenty. Not just ok, but exquisite, not just ordinary but extraordinary.
God as among us in Jesus is abundant, all encompassing and never ending. And through Jesus, we’ve become vessels for God’s love in this world.

Do we understand this? Do we get it? Have we had this epiphany? Does the story of Jesus at this wedding help shake us out of our old way of thinking---does the promise of God’s extravagant abundant love as symbolized in the gallons of exquisite wine—help us realize the truth: That with God and through God we can---and we must---bring hope to the world? Do we get that we CAN make a difference by allowing ourselves to be vessels of God—bursting with an abundance of grace, truth and love?
Jesus walked among us to show us that we, each of us, is a vessel for God in the world. Each and every day we have opportunities to be an overflowing, bursting vessel of God in the world. Whether it’s a kind word to a lonely neighbor, a helping hand to a hurting child, reaching out to a refugee or a donation to Episcopal Relief and Development to assist the rescue work in Haiti, the world always has room for more of God’s love.
For if there is one thing we can take from the humanity of Jesus is that when God’s creation hurts, as the people of Haiti do today, God hurts. And if there’s one thing we can learn from the divinity of Christ it is that each one of us, through prayer and action, can make the devastation of Haiti, the hurting throughout this world bearable.

Today, through the manifestation of God in the person of Jesus Christ, we have the ability to show others the abundance of God’s grace.

May God among us through the person of Jesus Christ give us the strength and the determination to burst out, overflowing with God’s abundant exquisite and extravagant love.


Amen.

Baptism---a thought or two.

One of the greatest pleasures of the priesthood is administering the sacrament of baptism. There is the wonder of an infant--all soft and sweet and full of potential-- but then there's also the joy a baptism brings. It isn't that many of us think this baby is doomed to eternal limbo without the sacrament, there is no sense that this little baby has sinned in any way shape or form...no the joy is that "thing" babies bring to the table. Innocence? Possibility? The miracle of life? I don't know what it is specifically, but I do know that, for me, when that child is sealed as Christ's own forever, it is very hard for me to maintain my composure. Of course he is already Christ's own forever, but by publicly annointing him, I get the immense privilege of proclaiming that to the world. The day this doesn't choke me up is the day I should hang up the collar.
God bless Colin and all the innocent, beautiful children of this world.

Named by God, Sealed in Christ--Feast of the Holy Name January 1, 2010

+Toward the end of seminary my liturgics professor decided it was time to share some horror stories of being a priest….of the time he spilled an entire chalice of red wine down a brand new, very expensive altar frontal. Of the time instead of throwing a fistful of dirt onto a casket in a graveyard he threw his prayer book, of the various and sundry mishaps common in baptisms—screaming babies, throwing up babies, babies who are so wiggly you pray that you won’t drop them into the font…but one story really sticks out for me. He said that often, especially at a big service like the Easter Vigil when you can have a number of baptisms, and especially nowadays when children are given unfamiliar names, you can, as the priest—or the Bishop---forget the name of the child you are baptizing. It eventually happens to everyone—we have a brain cramp--but this professor of mine said he had a sure fire way to get you out of this awkward situation—just as you are about to administer the baptism say to the parents and Godparents, in a booming and God like voice: “Name this Child.” Now besides getting the priest out of a sticky wicket, this action can be very moving for all involved. This act of initiating the child into a faith while also naming the child, is reflective of our Jewish roots. You see in baptism we, like in the Jewish rite of circumcision, commit the child to our faith tradition and we name the child. These two actions: the naming and the commitment are, for good reason, linked in the circumcision and baptismal rites. For our name says a lot about us, as does the way we choose to worship our creator. Through the action of circumcision and the action of baptism those who love us are saying, this is who this child is and this is how he or she will be known. The commitment to an identity is sealed through our naming ceremony, and the ceremony is determined by our faith. So whether the tradition is of the old covenant or the new, the naming ceremony is important.
The story of the incarnation, the coming of God in the flesh to dwell among us—is all about the old leading us into the new. For the incarnation was then and is now, an ever-unfolding event. We don’t know what will happen next, neither did Mary and Joseph. They had been given snippets but the reality of it all was still unfolding for them. We’re told throughout the Nativity story that, Mary pondered all these things in her heart. No doubt wondering, what in the world does all this mean, what will happen next?
Out of their faith, Mary and Joseph commit themselves and their son to a new way, a new life. Through their repeated acts of faith Mary and Joseph set forth a chain of events that takes us from the wood of the crib, to the wood of the cross, from the Covenant of Moses to the New Covenant of Christ.
Progressing from the old into the new is an appropriate theme for this, the first day of a new year. Mary and Joseph as they have throughout this Advent and Christmas journey, are leading the way out of the old and toward the new. Mary and Joseph follow the traditions of their faith by circumcising and naming their son on the eighth day. But besides honoring the traditions of the old this action also gives us a glimpse into the new--for by calling their son Jesus instead of the more traditional Joseph, Mary and Joseph respond to the directive of God given to them through the angel Gabriel….honoring the old while opening the way for this new thing---this God coming to us in the flesh--Jesus.

Through their faith Mary and Joseph risked everything to follow God’s directive…even though it would take their son from the stable in Bethlehem to that hill in Calvary.

How easy it would have been to ignore Gabriel’s directive, to name Jesus Joseph and to return to Nazareth to raise him with his brothers and sisters a carpenter’s kid, a faithful Jew. A good and simple man. But Mary and Joseph didn’t do this. When asked to name their child, they gave him the name which was given to them. A name which held no family connection, a name they wouldn’t have chosen on their own. A name which from that day forth, became a name to be written on the hearts of generations of the faithful. A name which allows us a glimpse of God, and allows God a glimpse of us. A name which serves as a window between this world and the next, a name which saves us. …a name which seals us as God’s own forever. A name at which every knee shall bend and every head will bow. A name which is written on our hearts and in our souls, a name we carry as we strive to be instruments of God’s justice and mercy in all whom we encounter.
Mary and Joseph took the old: a traditional ceremony of circumcision and naming to unleash something altogether new: the promised messiah, a savior for all people.

Through the actions of the Divine and the response of the lowly today we have been given a new name, we have been marked, sealed as God’s forever. Today a child has been named and through that name God has come to dwell among us, to save us and to shine upon us, forevermore. +

Christmas Day, 2009: "It's Just for You."

“What’s this?” “A present for you.” “For me?” “Yes, it’s for you.” “Why?” “ Because I love you very much.”
I’m not sure of the exact words, but this is a reasonable facsimile of a conversation I had with my niece, probably 18 years ago. It was either Christmas or her birthday and I was giving her a present. Presents were kind of new to her, and she didn’t quite get that this was for her. To keep. She was delighted beyond belief with the gift. But it wasn’t the doll or the book or the toy, it wasn’t even the thrill of receiving a gift from another. No for that little girl it was (and I might say, still is for the 21 year old woman she has become) the love which led me to want to give her something. That’s what gave her such a thrill. Out of that love came her unbridled innocent response of joy: “For me? Especially for me?”
Re-reading today’s Gospel story reminded me of this . For what struck me was that this gift as announced to the shepherds in the field that night, is a gift given just for each of us, out of God’s immeasurable love.
And that, the expression of God’s love for us through the birth of Christ, is what the Christmas story is all about.
We hear it loud and clear in today’s Gospel.
-But the angel said to them, "Do not be afraid; for see—I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people. No need to question, no need to doubt, there is Good News to be had, and it is especially for you and especially for me, and especially for everybody!
-To you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord. This isn’t just a telling of some removed event --no today a savior has been given to us-- especially for you and especially me.
Luke continues: -This will be a sign for you: you will find a child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger."
This savior, this babe wrapped in cloth and lying in a feeding crib is not some out of reach messiah available only for the rich and the powerful, the devout and the pious. This child is especially for us. Especially for you and me.
It is really hard to imagine isn’t it? A messiah not only for the Jews, a savior not only for the Gentiles, a Redeemer who redeems everyone, not only the most pure of hearts, a Lord not only for the most devout but also for the most lax among us, the lost, the doubting, the hurt and the angry. This messiah whose birth we praise today is a gift given especially to you and me. Especially for each everyone of us.
Like Alyssa all those years ago, it’s hard to accept this gift… how did we deserve this wondrous gift?
Of course we didn’t, we haven’t. This gift of Jesus is not anything we earn, it’s not anything we deserve. It is given to us out of love.
And like Alyssa, The appropriate response is to squeal with glee.
And like the shepherds, the appropriate response is to go searching for this savior and to look upon the baby with great awe and wonder.
And like Mary and Joseph the appropriate response is to love this child with all our heart and with all mind and with all our soul.
So this Christmas story is not just a story about how Jesus came into the world…it’s a story which reminds us that God has given us a gift beyond all measure and God picked it especially for you and for me.
But not unlike, our own children who will play with their new toy for a week or so and then discard it, we too can forget and discard this gift. But even if we stop noticing it, even if we cast is aside, this gift never goes away, this gift is always with us, because God, through the birth of Christ is right here, right now. God was here yesterday, God is here today and God will be here tomorrow. Whether we notice or not.
That’s the wondrous thing about this Christmas gift-- no matter how many times we forget the gift of Christ, no matter how far back on the shelf we place it, no matter how long we go between remembering it, this gift is always there, ready for us to notice again, ready for us to unwrap again. And every time we notice, every time we unwrap it we’ll find that it’s still the perfect gift, it’s still exactly what we wanted, exactly what we needed.
That’s the miracle of this Christmas story, that even though our needs vary person to person, year to year the gift of our Savior fits us like a glove. For unto us this day a child has been born and onto that child we may lay our hopes and our dreams, our sorrows and our concerns, our happiness and our despair. For on this day, in the city of David, a King has been born and this king, is a gift which is ours for the unwrapping, and the only requirement for accepting it is that we strive to love each and every person as much as that baby and the God who gave him to us, loves us.
So Merry Christmas and enjoy your gift of Christ, given especially for you. +

The Magnificent Counter-Cultural Mary, Advent IV Year C

+Did you know that in some circles the Virgin Mary is considered and insurgent and that her song, subversive?
Well, In Guatemala, during one of the autocratic regimes which have ruled there, reciting the Magnificat, Mary’s Song , is against the law. It is deemed so subversive---so intent on undermining the established order—that it is literally against the law to use it in worship.
Now Mary is certainly a lot of things—the Holy Mother, The God Bearer, a stalwart disciple of Jesus, usually depicted as quiet, devout, humble and simple. But an insurgent, subversive?
But the reality, when you think about it, is that Mary was pretty radical--for through Mary, God did one of the most subversive acts of all-time—the incarnation.
In choosing Mary God just did what God always does----surprising us all with an unlikely, radical and counter-cultural move. While everyone expectantly waited for the coming of the Messiah in a great show strength and glory, God chose a simple girl, from a backwater town, under compromising circumstances, to bring the Savior of the world to us. God is not one to announce his activity with trumpets and fanfare. God, you see, appears to us in the mundane, the ordinary, the difficult and the messy. Because the mundane, the ordinary the difficult and the messy is all part of who we are and God cherishes us—all of us, in all conditions, neat and tidy, messy and chaotic. God doesn’t come to us all great fanfare and fuss because God simply wants to be with us in our ordinary daily lives. God wants to dwell where we dwell and that is, more often than not, pretty ordinary, maybe even mundane!
Anyway, if God had announced the coming Messiah through a polished PR man instead of the wild and wooly locust eating animal skin wearing John the Baptist, we would have noticed wouldn’t we? We would have prepared, wouldn’t we? We would have cleaned up, tidied up and been open to receiving the messiah wearing our Sunday best and hiding the messiness of our lives. Through Mary, God shows us, yet again, that it’s the messiness of our lives, as well as the neat and tidy of our lives, in which God dwells. God loves us. Lock stock and barrel, all of us….and to show us that unconditional and all encompassing love God chose Mary as the vessel for His Incarnation. God appears in an unassuming and completely surprising manner==
God just kind of sneaks up on us--hiding, as the saying goes, in plain sight.

And if the incarnation itself, God taking on human form, is not radical enough, God accomplishes this through two women---WOMEN-- talk about hiding in plain sight—who would pay any attention to these women--one too old to be a mother and another too young? Two women who, by all appearances were devout God-loving women living their lives as normally and unassumingly as one can imagine. It is through these two devout, unassuming, God-loving kinswomen that God chooses to subvert the order of all things, through whom God decides to lift high the meek, to encourage and embolden the humble and to deflate the powerful.
It’s one thing to be chosen. It’s another thing to say yes.

Mary and Elizabeth both said yes.

They doubted, they feared, they trembled, they worried and they wondered how and why God decided to tap them, but when given the opportunity to be instruments of God’s subversive and surprising activity among us, they said yes.

Can we say the same thing? Do we say yes when God appears within the ordinariness of daily lives? Do we even see God hiding in plain sight? Do we notice that God is calling out to us, do we realize that God has chosen us?

The opportunities to be an instrument of God in this world are readily available to us. But usually these opportunities require us to shift gears, to repent—to change the direction of our lives….and that can seem too difficult, too overwhelming So instead of grabbing the opportunity to be a God-bearer we turn away, rejecting God, we say no we can’t possibly do it. Not us.

But God, in this surprising and subversive act of bringing the Messiah to us through such unassuming and humble means, is saying, anyone—anyone-- can be the bearer of the Good News. Anyone can help turn the order of things upside down and inside out. God is saying that anyone—all of us, everyone can subvert the order of the world, can scatter the proud and lift high the lowly.

Our task this morning is to hear Mary’s song and to live it out…in all its insurgent subversive and counter-cultural best.

Now I’m not talking about overthrowing the government or telling your boss off…but I am talking about being counter-cultural. By not accepting that in this world of plenty so many live without. That in this world, people will go to bed hungry tonight. That 10% of the people in this country are out of work. That people don’t have access to affordable healthcare. That tonight children will be cold and alone, innocent victims of drug abuse, domestic violence and a myriad of other social ills.
Being counter cultural means we no longer accept that the high remain lofty by stepping on the backs of the humble and the meek. That the rich get richer while the poor get poorer, that the powerful hold onto that power through intimidation. Being counter cultural means accepting that we are all instruments of God and each of us magnifies the Lord by saying yes to being God-bearers and no to the status quo. Being counter-cultural means heeding the message of Mary, by joining with Mary and Elizabeth to rejoice in the gift of their sons.

Our souls proclaim the greatness of the Lord, our spirit rejoices in God our savior for he has looked with favor on Mary, on Elizabeth on you and on me, his lowly servants. +

A Prophet Leads us through Advent....Kicking and Screaming

+What a way to begin Advent---these readings aren’t the stuff of Christmas carols are they?
Last week Jesus told us to be prepared for we won’t know the time of his second coming-- that we must stand ready, ready for him to come in great power and glory. It was a rough way to begin Advent. No angel visits to Mary, no sweet prose about a babe in a manger. Today the message doesn’t get any quieter, the image isn’t any sweeter. Today we hear from two prophets—Baruch, speaking to a generation of Babylonian exiles some 1400 years before the time of Jesus and John, a New Testament prophet preparing the way for Christ. Baruch tells his generation to be ready, to stand up, to drop the dreary existence of captivity, ready to be freed. John, in today’s gospel, promises release to all who follow him . Release from the despair of the wilderness, relief from the rigors of the Temple, and reprieve from the autocracy of the Empire. Repent, cries John, turn your life around, shed your old ways , for a new way is coming and its time to get ready. Mountains will be laid low, valleys will be filled and the rough road will be made smooth. According to our two prophets today—Baruch and John-- this shift into the new isn’t easy, it’s not painless.

Prophets do not come onto the scene quietly. They shake things up; they shout from the rooftops they set us on edge. A prophet doesn’t fit in, doesn’t tell us what we want to hear. A prophet tells us what we must hear. A prophet is often a pain in our rear. But after a prophet is through with us, we don’t look at anything the same way. After a prophet is through with us, we are different.
John didn’t come on the scene quietly, nor did he tell people what they wanted to hear. To many, I’m sure; John was a pain in the rear!

But John also knew his place, John knew he was simply the opening act for the big show, he was the front man, the advance man for the Messiah. John’s job is to turn us around, to get us to leave the old behind so we are free to accept the new. So John, this straggly looking, wild sounding, peasant from the backwater tells us: repent, turn your lives around, open yourself to the new way which is about to arrive. He’s a different breed of prophet, prepared to help usher in a new legacy, a different way—John was on the edge of something big and he was bound and determined to bring as many people with him as possible.

John stood between two distinct periods in our Christian history— bridging the prophetic voice of the Hebrew scripture with the new voice to come in the person of Jesus Christ. He was a transitional figure with one eye firmly on the past and one eye firmly on the future. Some may have thought he was a prophet ahead of his time, others may have thought he was just plain nuts, but he knew , he knew he was the new Elijah, paving the way for God’s in breaking into the world through Jesus Christ.

And he was going to make darn sure that people would hear his message. A message of both promise and warning.

Promise that the messiah was on his way and warning that we weren’t prepared!

John is telling us, John is imploring us, let go of the old ways. To drop all that weighs us down and with outstretched arms, lift our faces to the sky and accept the coming of the new world. A new world full of God’s love.

Should be an easy ,message to sell, right? We’re all aware that life is more joyful when we allow God’s love to wash over us and guide us. ..so we should gladly and easily turn our lives around shedding all that stands in our way, right? Of course that’s not what we do…we’re human after all and it’s human nature to resist change. Even when it’s good for us! Remarkably, even when we’re in a bad situation, we have a tendency to stay put, to stick with the status quo. Not because we are gluttons for punishment but because we would rather stick with a scenario we know than change to one we don’t. The familiar, even when it isn’t good seems less risky than the unfamiliar.
This is not new.
The people of the Exodus, the people of the Exile all wanted, at one time or another to return to what they knew, even though it was bad for them, because what they knew was less risky than what they didn’t.

We’re no different. We don’t easily repent, we don’t easily change direction, we don’t easily let go of all that is familiar. But to fully receive the miracle in Bethlehem we must take this Advent time of preparation to lower our mountains, fill our valleys and straighten our crooked roads.

We all have them—mountains of doubt, valleys of anxiety, roads crooked with worry. This is no way to welcome the Jesus, but those mountains, those valleys and those crooked roads can seem insurmountable---it may seem impossible to overcome it all, shed it and emerge ready to welcome the messiah.

But John the Baptist in all his railing and ranting, in all his challenges and promises prepares us for this new way, he brings us across the divide from the old to the new. He invites us to emerge from the muddy waters of the Jordan changed, ready to receive God’s embrace of love.
A love born of Mary swaddled in rags, lying in a manger.
So our job this Advent season, amidst all the preparations of trees and gifts, of liturgies and clothing drives of worry. Amidst all our roads of worry, valleys of anxiety and mountains of doubt is to repent: to turn our lives from all that weighs us down, of all that distracts us and turn toward the east and with heads raised high and arms outstretched ready to accept the coming of the messiah.
The image isn’t quiet and the message isn’t sweet, but through Baruch and through John we’ll find ourselves in that barn on a silent night, awash in wonder and bowled over by awe. +

The Thin Place Between Bethlehem and Jerusalem

This sermon was preached at the Church of the Holy Nativity, Clarendon Hills, IL on Nov. 29, 2009

+This time of year, it gets dark really early. By 3:30 in the afternoon, the sun is in clear descent and by 4:30 or 5:00 night has fallen. The sun doesn’t rise until about 6:30 in the morning. It’s a dark time. The ancient Celtic people, who lived in a similar climate, embraced the encroaching darkness. According to Celtic legend, it’s during these twilight times when the veil between this world and the next is thinnest. During the dusk of evening and the dawn of morning we glimpse that which has gone before and that which is yet to come. The Celts call this the Thin Place.

Late November/early December is a dark and quiet time, but we hardly notice, what with all the Christmas lights, the “all Christmas music all the time radio stations” and the day after Thanksgiving sales.
According to our church calendar, Advent is here. According to the calendar of commercialism, Christmas is here.
I love Advent. Not just for the destination: the birth of Jesus, but for the journey which leads us to that barn in Bethlehem. It’s a remarkable journey. But it’s one easily missed.

Although only four weeks long, a lot gets packed into Advent. We have the story of Mary—a young woman who bravely accepts this pregnancy announced by an angel and by means she doesn’t understand --her loving visit with Elizabeth, her difficult conversation with Joseph—Mary’s grace and fortitude is worthy of wonder and respect. Advent is the perfect time to reflect on Mary-- for without her we don’t have the incarnation. We must have Mary to get to Jesus, so focusing on her is a logical Advent pursuit. And it’s probably what most of us think of when we think of Advent.
But today we don’t hear the joy of Mary’s song , the wonder of her visit to Elizabeth or the courage of Joseph’s acceptance. Today we hear of a different time—a future time when the world we know ends, and a new world emerges.
For Advent is a liminal time-that time which is neither here nor there, a time of transition. We’re betwixt and between…just last week we celebrated Christ as King of Kings and Lord of Lords and now we’re awaiting his quiet birth.
But, as Luke tells us in today’s Gospel, we’re also betwixt and between the life of this world and that of the next.
Because, while anticipating the first coming of Jesus we must keep an eye toward the second.
Today we hear tell of the end times, the end of all things familiar, the destruction of all we know, the end to all that is. We don’t get to Silent Night easily, do we?

Jesus, in this 21st chapter of Luke is full of apocalyptic foreboding. Talk of end times is unsettling. Mark 13, Luke 21, the Book of Revelation…the apocalyptic imagery of the New Testament is hardly the thing of a babe in a manger is it?
But this end time imagery, this apocalyptic language, is an important part of the Advent story.
You see, to welcome in the new, we must shed the old.
Apocalypses are not just global events, ushering in the destruction of the entire earth. We each experience our own apocalypses…private upsets which throw our equilibrium completely off, when all we have taken for granted, all we’re comfortable with is stripped away, leaving us disoriented, vulnerable, at a loss. But without the loss, the new wouldn’t have room.


Today’s Gospel reading from Luke comes toward the end of Jesus’ earthly ministry, when his own personal apocalypse is imminent.
He knows his earthly life—the first coming, begun in Bethlehem, is about to end in Jerusalem. He wants his followers then and his followers now to be prepared, prepared to live the good news in this world, while ready to move onto the next. Jesus is in a transition time, Jesus is in a thin place.
Advent is just such a place for us.
Advent is a time to tear down and to build up. A time to prepare ourselves for the first coming of Christ-a time to ready ourselves for the love of God which surpasses all understanding. A time-to shed all our preconceived notions, all our worries, all our doubts. You see, our worries, our doubts and our fears block the way of God, our worries our doubts and our fears keep us from the loving embrace of God. Advent is a time to strip ourselves of what was and what always has been, ready to receive what’s new and yet to come.
The miraculous birth of Jesus in a barn during that silent night two millennia ago was an apocalypse, an end of time. But this apocalypse isn’t all fire and brimstone, all death and destruction. This apocalypse, this end of time, comes to us in all humility, wrapped in rags with no place to lay his head.
You know, with all the lights and noise of commercial Christmas it’s amazing we don’t miss it altogether.
And that’s the point.

Advent calls us, in the midst of all this noise, to empty ourselves of all that keeps us from embracing the love of God sent to us in the person of Jesus Christ. Advent calls us to keep our feet in this world, proclaiming the Gospel and living the Good News, with an eye to the world to come, a world we will meet through the same Jesus, the Son of God born of Mary.

So as we scurry about, shopping sales, hanging lights and singing songs, let’s not forget our Advent task---to stay quiet, stay alert and be aware. For soon a child will be born, a child like none other. A child on whom all our hopes and dreams, frets and worries may be laid.
Happy Advent my friends, may your thin places show you the glory of this world and the glory of the world to come.

Amen.

The Temple Must Fall

Pentecost 24, Yr. B, November 15, 2009
+So where will you be on Dec 23, 2012? If you believe all the hype associated with the just released movie “2012,” you’ll be witnessing the destruction of the earth—The Earth’s crust collapsing through earthquakes and tidal waves flooding the continents. The apocalypse. The end ,which has been anticipated by humanity for millennia, will be here. Of course the movie is a fictional, fantastical dramatization of the end times. But, regardless of how it’s depicted, the apocalypse brings an end to all things familiar ushering in something altogether new. .Apocalyptic predictions tend to cause panic in some, indifference in others. Dec 2012 is just another in a long line of drop dead dates given for end times. Remember Y2K? Water bottles, canned goods? Kerosene lanterns? People seem drawn to Armageddon. All sorts of books movies and tv are full of such imagery. Even the Bible.

Both Hebrew and New Testament scripture have apocalyptic portions…. Isaiah Jeremiah, Micah, Ezra, Revelation and, as we’ve heard today, the Book of Daniel, the Epistle to the Hebrews and the 13th chapter of Mark’s Gospel (commonly called the “little apocalypse”) all allude to a dark time when a final battle between the evil of this world and the paradise of the heavenly world will occur. Taken in their cultural context, these writings make sense. The Jewish world at that time—mainly the two centuries before and after Christ’s birth—was under siege, with various invaders marauding about. It was a time ripe for writing about the pervasive power of evil. However, to only hear these writings as a response to a particular historical moment in time is, in the opinion of most scholars, a mistake. Descriptions of the end times, pop up in the literature of all cultures throughout all eras, suggesting we should consider what it says not only about people then, but people now.
In today’s Gospel reading, Jesus, wasn’t just speaking to Peter, James, John and Andrew, he was speaking to us as well.
According to Jesuit professor and author John Kavanaugh , apocalyptic imagery works for every generation because, indeed, each generation experiences its own end of times.

Whenever what we hold as dear—whenever what we experience as fundamental to our way of life is threatened, it feels awful, it is scary and it can seem as if it is the end of the world. And in a way, well it is the end of the world. In every generation and for every people, life as trusted and known is threatened and in some cases destroyed. In our own 20th century history this has happened time and again—the Great Depression, the Holocaust, World War 2, the civil rights fight, the AIDS epidemic have all taken the world to the brink. In these and many other instances, all that those affected held dear, trusted, was torn away, turned upside down.

9/11/2001 was an apocalypse of sorts, as was the financial collapse of last year. To the folks in Ft Hood, Texas last week was an apocalypse.
Today there are people all over the world, in this country throughout this state, within this city and here at this Cathedral whose lives are turned upside down, who are experiencing there own private and personal apocalypse.

Indeed, when all that we consider fundamental—foundational-- to our lives collapses, it can feel like Armageddon, it can feel like the end.
Because when all that we hold dear collapses, it’s an end.

But, and I think this is the point, with each end comes a beginning. Now it’s not always apparent just where and how that beginning will manifest, that’s what makes it so scary, but scripture seems clear---to get to the new we must get rid of the old. The trouble is the old, no matter how flawed, is comfortable—familiar-- and we don’t want to let go of it.
Jesus, throughout his ministry, kept saying, all that you know, all that you think is important, isn’t. You must lose the old way so you are free to embrace the new.
But this transformation, this transfiguration is not easy…it gets messy and is almost always terrifying.



So, what are we to take from all of this? Should we just give up on all that we hold familiar, figuring it will all end in apocalyptic terror anyway? What should we do with all this talk of the end of time? How do we remain open to change, to a new way?
By loosening our grip.
It isn’t about giving up all that we know and all that we hold dear. It’s about keeping it all in perspective. This text is not so much a warning about our own deaths or about the end of the world as it is a commentary on fully living in this world, with an eye to the next . It is easy to get caught up in the deadlines and demands of this life, of rushing from this meeting to the next, of working toward one goal after another. To do that is to give into this world, a world that is destined for destruction, a world which will turn on itself, be it nation upon nation, or the destruction of this planet through our own abuse and neglect. Regardless of how it comes about all the earthly temporal things we work for will, one day, cease. But when all is said and done, and the last smoldering coal of earth’s demise is extinguished-- we will revel in the next world, in the company of the angels, filled and sustained by Love, that unending, never dying, always growing Love of God as known to us through Jesus Christ.

So when we read these apocalyptic stories of death and destruction should we despair in what may be the inevitable or should we celebrate the gift of love given to us through Christ?

When Jesus sits atop the Mount of Olives-- detailing the destruction of the temple—the one in Jerusalem and those each of us erect in our lives—he isn’t lamenting the inevitable of this life, he is proclaiming the Good News of eternal life. He is saying, don’t be afraid to let go, don’t hold onto the past, go boldly into the future, whatever it may bring, loving ourselves, loving our neighbors and loving the source of all Love, God.
So where will we be on Dec 23, 2012? Hopefully wherever we are we’ll be surrounded by, infused with and evoking that Love which is available to us in the birth life, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. +

“Faith Trumps Fear, Love Trumps Doubt” Proper 23 Yr B

+Jesus, looking at him, loved him.
This is one of the most beautiful lines in all of scripture. Jesus looks deep into the soul of the rich man and through his unwavering abiding love, tells him the very thing the man fears: his wealth is standing in his way. His wealth is a barrier to the everlasting life he so earnestly desires.
The rich man hears this and then walks away, shocked and grieving.

I think many of us probably assume that’s the end of the story. A rich man asks for the key to everlasting life but not getting the answer he wants, walks away scheming on how to find a loophole, determined to hold onto his riches. But we’re not told the rest of this story, the gospel just reads that he walks away “shocked and grieving.”

He’s grieving. To grieve is to be fully aware of what just happened, but needing time to process it, to let it sink in. So the rich man may just need some time to adjust. He’s also shocked. Perhaps because a poor itinerant preacher had the audacity to tell a man of his wealth and stature to give it all up ----but I don’t think that’s it. I think he’s shocked that Jesus’ deep gaze saw through to the truth: that even though he claimed to be a faithful man, following the laws of Moses since childhood, he was faithless when it came to his wealth. Instead of taking his wealth and sharing it with others, caring for the least among him, he was hoarding it for himself, not trusting that by doing justice, by caring for the sick the hungry and the oppressed, he would be awarded with riches beyond all measure.
Jesus isn’t saying: wealth is bad. That having nice things is evil. The problem isn’t having wealth, the problem is hoarding it to the detriment of others.

Jesus knew what the rich man didn’t: that his wealth was a gift from God. A gift, which, like all of God’s gifts are not ours to hoard or to hide, but to share. The rich man wasn’t holding onto his wealth because he was evil. The rich man was holding onto his wealth because he was afraid. Although a self proclaimed devout man, adhering to the letter of the laws of faith, the man, like so many of us, is missing the spirit of the law. The spirit of the law, the spirit of our faith demands that we not just proclaim our faith, but that we live it: not letting our fear and our doubt hold us back.
Wealth doesn’t keep us from everlasting life. Fear does.
As far as I can tell, from Abraham and Sarah, [Isaac and Rebekah, Jacob Rachel and Leah] to Moses, Miriam and Aaron, through Elizabeth and Zechariah, Mary and Joseph to the Jesus of the manger, the cross and the empty tomb, we have been taught that doubt and fear render us lost and alone while faith and hope offer us a joy and peace beyond our wildest dreams.

But even with all these examples of faith trumping doubt, of hope over fear, we still doubt and we still fear.

We have a choice. We can doubt and fear or we can hope and dream. But we can’t do both. With every doubt we whittle away at hope and with every fear we squelch a dream. If the rich man really had faith in the laws of Moses he was following why did he seek out Jesus? Would a man of wealth and stature track down an itinerant preacher from the backwater if he was full of hope? I think his own fear and his own doubt had whittled away at his faith….I think the rich man was, in spite of all the material goods and social stature he had attained, empty. And he looked to Jesus to fill him--to adjust a ritual, to explain some law—so he could go on his way, happy and content. But as is usual with Jesus, the man didn’t get what he was looking for, he got what he needed. Jesus didn’t tell him how to better profess his faith, Jesus told him to live it.

The Gospel demands more than professing a faith once a week at church. The Gospel challenges us to live it. Jesus wasn’t just talking to the Rich Man, Jesus was talking to us.

The challenge of living out our faith requires us to ask: what helps us spread the good news and what hinders us? What’s important to us, what’s our heart’s desire for St Paul’s Cathedral?

Is it our building our music and our liturgies? Or is it to feed the hungry, clothe the naked and free the oppressed?
Hopefully it is both.

You see, our building, our liturgies our music don’t keep us from living the Gospel message but neither are they the Gospel message.

We don’t have all this stuff [the building the choirs…] because it’s nice, we have all this because it feeds us, strengthening us to do the work God has given us to do. We don’t ask you to pledge so we can keep this building, these choirs and these liturgies going for the sake of entertainment or aesthetic pleasure, we ask you to give money so we, as a community of faith, enriched, emboldened and empowered through our worship in here can do the work of God out there. We ask for pledges so that we can make St. Paul’s Cathedral more than a stop on an architectural tour, more than a nice venue to hear a concert, we need your pledges so we can continue to be a beacon of light for the people of Buffalo, so we can continue to offer hospitality healing and hope to all those we encounter—those who walk through our doors and those we encounter when we walk out of them.

We’ve been given all of this as a sacred trust, not an evil indulgence. Our job isn’t to fear losing it, but to rejoice in what it is-a loving testament of thanks to God, designed to strengthen us to go out, living the good news of Christ in the world.

As we enter into this stewardship season at St. Paul’s Cathedral we aren’t asking you to pledge out of fear, we’re asking you to pledge--commit your time, your talent and your treasure --out of hope. Hope that together we, as a community of faith, will be faithful live-rs of the Word for generations to come. AMEN.

The Courage of Letting Others be First

Proper 20, Year B. Sermon preached at St. Paul's Cathedral, Buffalo New York, 20 September 2009

I must be getting old. As I drive around the city I find myself rolling up my windows so I don’t hear the rude and disrespectful language being tossed about on the street. Young people, middle aged people, older people…there doesn’t seem to be an age limit.

Sometimes I wonder what’s happening in the world. Politicians, entertainers, sports figures and regular people seem to have reached new lows when it comes to respecting the dignity of every human being. Never before have we seen such disrespect on public view, whether it be on the stage at music awards, the tennis courts of the US Open or the floor of a joint session of congress. These past few weeks have caused me to question the decorum of our culture.

But then, just when I wondered where civility had gone, where respect lost its way and where dignity became something to avoid instead of embrace, I am buoyed by flashes of grace.

After the debacle, which was Serena Williams’ tirade at the US Open, there was still a final match to be played. After Kim Clijsters won, we saw her 18 month old daughter Jada, delighting in seeing herself displayed on the gigantic video board at the tennis center. She really couldn’t get enough of it….it wasn’t some self serving look at me, it was simple joy at being able to see her mommy and herself up on the screen. There was something so innocent and sweet about the scene. Through the genuine joy displayed by this child the distasteful tirade of the previous day melted away and I was transported to a simpler place, transported to a fundamental truth of faith: that our life is a miraculous gift from God intended for our joy. God wants us to embrace life as innocently and joyously as a child.

In Jesus’ time a child was not necessarily embraced as an exemplar of innocence. Children really had no status, and when he tells his disciples to receive the kingdom as a little child, he is being tremendously counter cultural. To assume the position of a child was to lower oneself to a status no one would voluntarily ascribe to. Children fell in the same category as all the other near-do-wells he hung out with: women, tax collectors, Gentiles. But the point Jesus is trying to make is not that we should give up our dignity willy nilly, but that we should, out of our dignity, offer dignity to everyone else. Not just those who we feel have earned it,, but everyone. People we love, people we don’t love, people who are like us, and people who aren’t. Everyone. No Exceptions.

Sgt 1st Class Jared Monti understood this, he lived it and died it. Sgt Monti was posthumously awarded the Presidential Medal of Honor this past week, for valor displayed on a battlefield in Afghanistan. Sgt. Monti not once, not twice but three times ran directly into enemy fire attempting to rescue one of his men. Many soldiers would have sent an underling to do the job, but when another soldier said he would go attempt the rescue, Monti stopped him saying, “no he is my guy and I will get him.” He didn’t get him, but he died trying, and as he lay mortally wounded this Sgt. First Class from Massachusetts first recited the Lord’s Prayer and then said :
“I’ve made peace with God. Tell my family I love them.” Then he died. His final earthly act was to offer praise and thanksgiving to God and his family. Monti’s actions were selfless and brave.

Jared Monti lived Jesus’ message as heard in today’s Gospel: "Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all." For Jared, the last must be first and the first will be last. Jared Monti was selfless.

Today we recognize Sgt Monti as a hero and we grieve for his family…the image of his heroics help counteract the boorish behavior we’ve witnessed elsewhere. The reality is that the actions of Serena Williams, congress-people, church leaders get far more press than the actions of Sgt. Monti and the thousands of other people who follow the lessons of our faith every day. Why?

Because our culture seems to embrace another gospel, the gospel of me first. Of fleeting glory, of striving to be number one no matter whom we may step on to get there. A culture of denigrating the next guy for our own gain.

This human tendency to focus on earthly things is noted in today’s reading from the Letter of James: “For where there is envy and selfish ambition, there will also be disorder and wickedness of every kind….conflicts and disputes come from our cravings, cravings which are at war within us.”

Envy and self ambition breed disorder…..when we covet that which is not from above….when we covet earthly glory , we become disordered, angry and bitter, and these negative feelings block us, they cloud our judgment leaving us ranting on tennis courts, in the halls of congress on the street corner, in our churches and living rooms. When we become focused on the glory of the world instead of the glory of God, our thinking becomes distorted, our minds jumbled. It is the task of each of us to clear our minds to stop railing at one another, to stop jockeying for position and stop trying to out do the other guy. It’s time for us to reject the projected behavior of our culture and embrace the behavior of the innocent, the brave, the dignified of our world.

Now we needn’t beat ourselves up for being more of this life than the next…even the disciples were caught up in the status and prestige of this world, more concerned with who was the greatest among them instead of listening to the greatest of all. Jesus was saying to them and to us : do as I do, be servant to all, for in that servant-hood you’ll find the key to everlasting life.

The unbridled joy of a child, the unwavering loyalty of a friend and comrade, the grieving hearts of mourning parents remind us that to be first in the kingdom of God we must respect each other, cherish each other and delight in each other. Perhaps our final hymn today, “Tell Out My Soul,” a hymn of the Virgin Mary, no doubt the most selfless person of all, puts it best: “put proud hearts and stubborn wills to flight so the hungry can be fed and the humble lifted high.”


Amen.

Reading the Bible Again for the First Time

Our Bible study for the fall is using the book mentioned above, by Marcus Borg, as our guide. Last night was the first meeting and our discussion was, as usual, wide ranging, animated and great fun.
We will skip next week as it is Chicken BBQ day and a couple of us can't make it through that and the study....;-) so our next meeting will be WED. SEPT. 30 7PM- 8:30 PM at MY HOUSE. (note change in location). See you then!

The Pharisees Weren't Such Bad Guys

The Pharisees weren’t such bad guys. It’s easy to ridicule them, to laugh at them. After all, they are often the targets of Jesus’ harshest retorts and we, having 20/20 hindsight can snicker and say, “How could they have been so blind?”

But you know we often wear the same blinders as the Pharisees. They were appalled that Jesus ate with sinners, unclean people, and tax collectors! Don’t we all have that friend—that person your other friends just don’t ‘get” that person who maybe doesn’t quite fit in? Others may never understand her, but you do, you see something they don’t and so you continue to hang out with the outsider. You see them differently than others. You see beyond what may appear on the surface. For whatever reason you’ve taken a closer look-- you’ve opened your heart to theirs and they’ve open their heart to you. Out of that trust comes friendship. A friendship you wouldn’t have if you hadn’t taken the time to listen, to look and to fully see.

But to those who haven’t taken the time, your friendship with this person remains incomprehensible and hard to take. It seems wrong.

To the Pharisees, Jesus’ actions—his choice of friends, his teachings and his apparent disregard for the rituals of the Jewish faith—were incomprehensible, hard to take and wrong. Jesus was taking everything they loved, everything the held dear, everything they knew and messing with it. When all that you hold dear, all that is familiar and comfortable is threatened, its really easy to become hopping mad.



We in the Anglican tradition, in the Episcopal church are all too familiar with such feelings. The ordination of women, the “new” prayer book, the consecration of Bishop Gene Robinson. People walked out the doors of this Cathedral because of such changes. Every denomination has these upheavals, every religion, every organization. Changes move us out of our comfort zones, and in this fast paced always changing world, comfort zones are important…comfort zones can be, dare I say, sacred.

Sacred cows. We all have them. Families, societies, religions, and parish churches in downtown Buffalo have them. The Pharisees had them too. A sacred cow is simply something which a group has determined to be untouchable, tamper proof, free from editing. Sacred cows generally develop over time and when asked to explain the origin of the sacred cow, we often just shrug and say “well we’ve always done it this way.” Because what matters isn’t how or why it started, what matters is that the action, whatever it is, has been sanctified through tradition.

Our liturgies are full of such traditions. Regardless of the original purpose, our liturgical actions, so familiar to us, have taken on the aura of sanctity.

A great deal of what we do here on a Sunday morning was at one point functional. Processions became a way to move large groups of people from one place to another in an orderly fashion, Sanctus bells helped mark actions happening just out of the congregation’s view, candles provided light before electricity, etc. Over time, though, these actions moved from functionality to sanctity.
But you see, many of these things are enhancements .Our worship is enhanced by candles, music, beautiful vestments and this glorious building. Enhanced. Not validated. Not necessary. Enhanced.

We set aside this place this time and these ceremonies—these instruments of our faith-- to be nourished in our faith, strengthened to do the work God has given us to do.

We get into trouble when our special clothing and music, our candles and bells, our incense and chanting becomes the end instead of the means. We get into trouble when we confuse our rituals with our faith.

And that is exactly what Jesus was saying to the Pharisees in today’s Gospel. Washing of hands is a way to respect God, to consume the gifts of God with reverence and humility. But washing of hands is not what makes something holy. What makes something holy is our full and complete faith in God and the trust that all we need is available through God. To be truly holy we must open ourselves up to that trust, we must release the stranglehold we have on our hearts and allow the Love of God to take up sole residence deep within us. If, after doing that, we engage in rituals to keep us focused, to place us in a holy state of mind, fine….but we must begin with our faith written on our hearts, for if we don’t begin there then our chanting, our kneeling, our processing, our vestments, our vessels and our glorious surroundings become, to use the words of our patron, St Paul, “a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal,” not signifying much of anything.

Jesus wasn’t against ritual, Jesus was against rituals that miss the point, rituals that usurp instead of enhance the Holy.

As I wrote this sermon Friday morning, the services for both Lt. Charles Mc Carthy and FF Jonathon Croom were being held around the corner at St. Joe’s. What I witnessed as each funeral cortège carried their bodies to the cathedral was a ritual which was steeped in the Holy, much pomp and circumstance, signifying something. A ritual which displayed the brother and sisterhood of firefighters the world over, a ritual which helped me remember that nothing is as holy as a person who will run into a burning building to save his brother or sister. Those firefighters who lined the streets in downtown Buffalo on Friday know what is sacred, they know what is Holy-- the rituals they employed to honor the lives of their comrades, helped us all to see the Holy. No doubt Jesus, heartbroken with the rest of us was also pleased, for these men and women clearly get what ritual is all about.

Jesus was telling the Pharisees then and is telling us now---don’t lose sight of the forest of faith for the trees of ritual. For it is the act of meeting the holy, it is the act of opening ourselves fully to the presence of God, which is sacred.

AMEN.

Are You Going to Eat That?

Sermon for Pentecost X
Last Sunday I was having brunch with old friends. Our table bustled with the joyful noise of family: Cousins poking each other, sisters laughing, a mom and dad overseeing the whole display, brimming with glee. I was privileged to be part of this gathering, not being related in any technical way with the group. But there I was, invited into this family, through love. At the end of the meal, my friend Mark reaches over and, with a piece of toast, sops up my leftover egg. In some circles this may be considered crass or rude, but it wasn’t. No this was an act of love. An intimate act of familiarity between good friends. No worries about social mores, of what others may think---just one person being drawn to something the other has. This wasn’t a hostile acquisition. This man, whom I love like a brother, reached across in the familiarity of old friends and absorbed what I had left. It was one of the most intimate and loving acts I have ever witnessed. We laughed about it remarking, “he just couldn’t stand seeing that leftover yolk sitting there, he had to eat it.” Mark was drawn to what I had and, in our mutual love, he felt comfortable enough to take it. And I felt comfortable enough to give it.

While much grander than any egg yolk on a breakfast plate, God’s love also pulls, beckoning us to partake.

The German theologian, Karl Rahner describes this attraction, this pull, this being drawn toward as fundamental to our human nature. As Rahner sees it, the Holy Mystery which is God, indescribable, unidentifiable, difficult to grasp, is so attractive to us that if we just stop trying to explain, quantify and tame it allowing ourselves to be taken in to be drawn, we will find rest in the loving embrace of God.

The problem is, according to Rahner, while this draw toward the Holy Mystery is part of our human nature, within our DNA, so is our desire for definition, prescription and certainty. We may feel a tug toward God but before giving into that pull we want to dissect, inspect and diagnose it.

That’s what was happening in today’s Gospel , smack dab in the middle of what is known as John’s “Bread of Life Discourse.” Jesus is explaining that he isn’t just some itinerant preacher from the backwater of Galilee, son of Mary and Joseph….no he is God’s Son, God in the flesh sent to us by our creator who is so drawn to us, so wants to reach us that he came to walk among us, to bring us home.

It’s easy as we hear these gospel excerpts to get caught up in the earthly image the words depict: Jesus’ flesh is the Bread of Life, a bread we must partake of to enter into eternal life with God. Not an easy image—it never has been. The early church was often accused of cannibalism—I think it’s easy to understand why. To this day it’s a popular way for detractors to condemn Christianity in general and our own Anglican belief in the Real Presence at Eucharist in particular, but to get caught up in that minutiae is to miss the point.

As Biblical Scholar Ray Brown states: The Jesus of John used language of this world to refer to the realities of the world from which he came.” (pg378 Intro to New Testament).
Jesus is using language we are familiar with to try and explain God. To try and explain a mystery so incomprehensible, so impossible to describe that whenever humans have tried to put words to it, we’ve failed. Speak to anyone who has had a near death experience----they try to explain a bright light, a peacefulness beyond anything they’ve ever known…but in the end they admit--words fail them. The ancient Jews knew the inexplicableness of God so well so they would never attempt to speak the name of God... They knew then, as we know now, that comprehending God’s full nature is beyond us. God’s love is so immense and so all encompassing we cannot tame it, we cannot hold it and we cannot describe it.

And therein lies the tension so clearly described in today’s Gospel reading.
Jesus is talking about all things heavenly, but he is heard with ears firmly encased in all things earthly. Jesus states that he is the Bread of Life. Not the bread of Moses, not the bread of bakers, or the bread of grocery aisles, but the bread of God, the bread of eternal light, the bread of a love so great, so immense, so massive it defies description, breaking free of the constraints of language, it knows no bounds.

Yes, Jesus is the Bread of Life but to receive this bread, to eat of it always we must embrace God in the person of Jesus Christ, allowing ourselves to be caught up in God’s mutual draw: our draw toward God and God’s reaching out toward us. To be caught up in this love means we must empty ourselves of our inhibitions, our worries, our doubts and come to the altar of God to be fed--fed with a love which we don’t earn, a love we needn’t understand and a love we can’t define….a love which, when we let go, will wash over us, a love we can sop up with the toast of our souls, a love which. when we’re open to receiving it, is a never ending meal of sacrifice and thanksgiving nourishing us as nothing else can.

In a few moments we’ll break bread together, presenting ourselves at this altar full of failings, full of questions and full of fear. Leave those here and walk away filled with the Bread of Life. A Bread which, while incomprehensible to each and every one of us, nourishes us in ways we cannot imagine yet so desperately crave.

Amen+

Volunteer Opportunity for Youth

Wing Fest 2009 seeks help for Kids Fun Zone-
Wing Fest is happy to partner this year with WNED on the Kids Fun Zone and a fantastic special event on Sunday of the festival weekend. In keeping with the long-established literacy theme of the Kids Fun Zone, we are looking for help before/during/after the big Electric Company "main event" at noon on Sunday, Sept. 6 (the national circuit tour is the 5th stop on a 20-city launch of the "reinvented" Electric Company); and for all day on Saturday with a Sesame Street theme and many kids' activities in the "zone" tent for Ready-to-Learn, Sesame St. and Electric Company. Contact me here with your availability and contact info (name/address/ph/email); or for questions and/or more info/donations...

We are seeking:
--Volunteers! Mature 16 years or older; or mature 12-15 with a parent/chaperone--please notify if less than 18 yrs of age and provide parent contact info
We are looking for about 10 volunteers per shift for the Kids Fun Zone area (four hours if possible, minimum 2 hours please) and up to 50 volunteers during the "main event" on Sunday on the park stage
There will be a volunteer orientation at WNED Studios (140 Lower Terrace) from 4:30-6:00 on Thursday, August 27.
If you'd like to volunteer, but can't make the orientation, sign up for a slot and we will send you an info "packet"

--WNY Literacy agency info and giveaways (fridge magnets, key chains, DVDs, stickers, etc.--you know: CHOCHKEYS!)

--Books for kids' book give away. We anticipate needing about 1500 books (new or gently used) with a preference (where possible) for (age 0-12) Sesame St./Think Bright themes like all Sesame St., Martha Speaks, Clifford the Big Red Dog, Super Why, Arthur, etc. Also, books through teen age.

Tasks and activity centers will include:

Set-up and tear down for zone and "main event"
Electric Company Tour event registration
Runners (main stage and kids zone for "main event")
Post "show" interactive audience activities and redirection from ballpark to kids fun zone

Craft table/activity assistance (Monster Mural, picture frame decoration, word games/coloring, jump rope/ball bounce with rhyming songs, prize wheel, crown decoration)

Face painting/tattoo application (adhesive!)

Book give away table monitors/supervision


Please send in your numbers/names/contact info and times for sign-ups weekly so we can track our needs and keep filling slots for full coverage! email me at lva.sherry@gmail.com or fax to the studio at 845-7036 to attn: Pat Ragin.

Can you let us know what you might have in the way of chochkeys, books and service lit asap--with quantities?

If you can think of others to who might be a source for volunteers, please fwd this message and let us know who to contact to follow up.

Finally, if you are serving families, can you help us to publicize the Kids Fun Zone? Let us know if you can post a flyer...we'll send to you via e-file. We are hoping for good weather and a great turn-out!

Hoping to see you at Wing Fest 2009!

Today's Sermon

We’ve all seen it, some of us have done it, some of us have had it done to us. A parent and child are in the grocery store and the child is talking back, whining or is engaged in a full blown foot stomping, ear piercing temper tantrum. The parent is displaying amazing restraint, exuding a deadly calm as they say, “You know I love you, but right now I don’t like you very much.” In most cases, the love of a parent for a child is unconditional….but the like? Oh that’s conditional…there are times we really don’t like the one’s we love.
Is God, as the ultimate parent, any different? Considering scripture in general and today’s readings specifically, I don’t think so. I know God loves us, but I’m not sure God likes us all the time.
For the most part God liked Amos—
He was a reluctant prophet—God communicated with him through visions and Amos, instead of ignoring the difficult message he received, spoke of it-- for although reluctant, he was obedient, so when given a task from God, Amos followed through. The visions were clear to Amos: God was none too happy with Israel. Established ramrod straight as if on a plumb line they had gone askew and God, well God was disappointed, angry and perhaps at wit’s end. Right then, God didn’t like His people too much.
So God sends this tree dresser, this gardener, a regular guy out to tell the truth: God loves you but God doesn’t like you so much right now. And as the reading tells us, “the land couldn’t bear all his words.”
The people didn’t like what they heard. The people liked being loved, but they didn’t like being held accountable. Sometimes it is really hard to accept love—because with love comes great responsibility, responsibility to nurture that love, to respect it and to heed its demands. So they shut Amos out, they despised him, they rejected him—for they didn’t want to hear what was being said. …they didn’t want to hear that with God’s love comes expectation.
In today’s Gospel we have another instance of not responding to God’s love, of not wanting to listen, resulting in God not liking us too much.
Herod is a sad sap. Remember this is not the Herod of the nativity story, the fearless and rigid ruler who, realizing that a threat to his power had been born, vowed to kill every male child under the age of two just to be certain his rival would never touch him. That Herod was ruthless and sure of himself. This Herod? Not so sure of himself. Herod feared John, he knew he was a holy man for what he heard from John, while perplexing, was somehow appealing. He was drawn to John’s message--but while Herod was King of the land—a man to be respected and feared--he certainly didn’t wear the pants in the family. So although he liked John the Baptist, he feared his wife more, so John was imprisoned—not killed as Herodias desired, but no longer free to roam the Jordan valley with his message of deliverance. John was saved from death and Herod’s wife was placated.…until that fateful night when Herod, so taken with his daughter’s beauty and talent and eager to show his guests what a gracious father he was, offered her anything her heart desired. Then and only then, when faced with the prospect of losing face in front of his guests does Herod follow through on Herodias’ deep held desire: to have John killed. His heart burning with John’s words Herod throws it all away just to look good at a party. By denying what he was feeling about John—by saying no to the gift of John’s prophecy and then by killing him, Herod has rejected God. Herod has taken God’s love and simply said, ‘no thank you.”
We all do that, we deny love in order to save face. Peter did it, Herod did and you and I do it. Every time we sleep in on a Sunday morning instead of coming to church, or stay in front of the tv instead of helping out at Friends of the Night people, every time we decide not to volunteer when asked, every time we don’t pledge, we are denying God’s love. We may achieve a short term gain—extra sleep, more money in our pocket or time in our schedule, but in the long run? In the long run we are poorer for it. God doesn’t like us much when we choose a short term gain over the long term peace and love God offers.
While we can never match the fullness of God’s love, isn’t incumbent upon us to spread the love we do have? Isn’t God’s love, as bestowed upon us a clarion call to love one another? We must, as recipients of great love offer great love back.
Herod couldn’t do that—even when face to face with a prophet, face to face with a messenger from God, his heart burning with a recognition that this man brought him something no amount of fame fortune power or prestige could give him couldn’t do that. He rejected the love of God and killed the messenger, all for a few moments of temporal glory.

Israel in the days Amos, wouldn’t accept God’s love. They doubted, they feared they lost their faith and in so doing, they made God mad. Not mad enough to remove his love, but mad enough to make them mighty uncomfortable . God still loved them, but they were too caught up in the here and now to remember that love and to spread it.
We’re no different.
With God’s love comes great expectations. We must let our hearts burn with recognition, we must set out to love and serve the Lord in all we do. We must gather here proclaiming God’s love and then leave here, refreshed by God’s grace, to show the world that love. For that is what God likes, a people who know they are loved and in turn love each other in His Name. And as the Cathedral Church of St. Paul in downtown Buffalo New York that is our task—to respond to God’s love by working, living and loving in His Name. Amen.