Sermon preached at St. Paul's Cathedral, Trinity Sunday, Yr B
+
One of my favorite comic strips is The Far Side. One of the best shows a man resembling Albert Einstein standing in front of a blackboard upon which is diagramed some complex equation divided into three steps. Under the heading Step One are scribbles numbers and equations; likewise, Step Three, at the other end of the board, has similar markings. But under step Two, right in the middle of board are just five words: “And Then a Miracle Happens.” I love it----the notion that something so intriguing, an idea so historic, a formula which explains so much…could be boiled down to a “and then a miracle happens,’ is funny…and refreshing.
I empathize with the Einstein figure—how hard it is to explain something which seems so logical to you, yet it is so difficult to convey. No doubt the real Einstein had times when he wished he could just use Step Two! At times what we know so clearly deep inside is almost impossible to put into words.
It’s the same with certain Christian doctrines...the incarnation, resurrection, ascension, the gift of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost and The Trinity. No doubt the Bishops in Nicaea at the fourth century council which gave us the doctrine of the Holy Trinity struggled mightily to find the words to describe our faith. Words we recite each week in our Creed, words which, to this day, cause a lot of consternation both within Christianity and beyond.
Let’s face it, it can be very difficult to explain our faith to another. Just because we have experienced it doesn’t mean we understand it. It can be so big and overwhelming that words fail us and we end up with “Step 2:” and then a miracle happens!
Jesus may have felt the same way speaking to Nicodemus…Nicodemus, you see, wasn’t thinking BIG enough, he was so constrained by his adherence to the law and to the ways things had “always been done” that he couldn’t open himself up to understand the full magnitude of what he was experiencing through the ministry of Jesus. Nicodemus, a Pharisee had been raised to follow the rules—rules designed to please Yahweh a distant, all powerful loving yet also wrathful God. But being pleased isn’t God’s ultimate goal--
God’s ultimate goal is to be in relationship with us. Through the ages of prophets, patriarchs and matriarchs God has been trying to reach us—to connect with us. God wants to experience us and God wants us to experience God.
This is the purpose of the Trinity: God in three persons, Father, Son and Holy Spirit gives God various routes to us and we, in turn gain various routes to God. A roadmap of sorts*.
The Trinity gives us, and God, a variety of ways to communicate, to connect, to relate.
Some of us connect to the parental “Father God” because we have caring nurturing parents or we long to have a caring nurturing parent---either way, for some of us the image of God as parent, as Father/Mother is comforting.
For others, the fleshy God, the incarnate word of Jesus is an easier image to connect with---a friend, a companion someone more accessible, more real, more tangible for us.
For others, there’s a sense that God is all in all—everywhere, in all things, of all things and deep within us experienced as intuition, inner voice etc. The Holy Spirit, while not physically present, is deep within us, expressing itself in our innermost thoughts, our soul searching and our heart’s desire.
Our heart’s desire, when we let ourselves feel it, is to receive God’s love, to accept God’s pursuit of us. The Holy Trinity comes for us in a number of ways because, beyond all human reason or reckoning, God wants to reach us!
When Jesus says in today’s Gospel “the wind blows where it chooses” I see an image of God in the person of the Holy Spirit, seeking us out reaching into the recesses of our hiding places to offer to us what God most wants to give: Love.
That’s the real miracle of our Christian faith: God so loves us, so wishes for us to accept that love, that God continues to come after us—as we heard in the Gospel: God so loved the world he gave his only Son (John 3:16)- his incarnate self to see and touch and taste that love, God gave us his eternal and all encompassing self, the Holy Spirit, to course through our very being at all times and in all places. This is a miracle indeed…and one we are called to proclaim…if only we could find the right words!
The three persons of the Trinity are traditionally described as Father Son and Holy Spirit but others prefer: Creator, Redeemer and Sanctifier or: Artist, Rescuer, Companion and many other permutations to numerous to mention here. It is a challenge to find the right words to describe the mesmerizing, fantastic and most amazing experience of God working in our lives. This struggle continues to this day—not because God is elusive, but because God is so big, so ever-present that language proves insufficient in describing it.
That is why this Cathedral, each Sunday, offers three distinct liturgies utilizing various styles to express our love of God and God’s love for us.
In the course of 4 hours we in-- three distinct ways---proclaim the Glory of God. We do this because as Jesus explained to Nicodemus: We speak of what we know and testify to what we have seen….and what we know and what we have seen of God is so huge and so varied we must use a variety of words and images to express it. And that’s ok, because it doesn’t matter so much how we say it. What matters is that we experience it; that we delve into a relationship with God dying to our limited human roadmap, allowing ourselves to be reborn into the life of “And then a Miracle Happens”---the Holy and Undivided Trinity, One God Creator Redeemer, Sustainer, Artist Rescuer Companion, Father Son and Holy Spirit.
Amen.
*CS Lewis Mere Christianity considers the doctrines of Christianity to be roadmaps to reality
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Saturday, May 30, 2009
The Descent of the Holy Spirit Gives us Life
Tomorrow is Pentecost, when we remember the moment Christ, sitting at the right hand of God sends the Holy Spirit to fill us, lift us, inspire us, guide us, and at times carry us. We wear red and celebrate the birth of the church, the occasion of us being given the tool needed to carry on and to do God's will in all that we do. Tomorrow, we will welcome the newest member of the Church of God, Jaiden Cooper as he is baptized at the 11:15 Eucharist. At both 9 and 11:15 everyone will be offered a red balloon to carry in procession and hold throughout the day as we welcome the tongues of fire brought to inflame our hearts minds and souls. It is a GRAND day in the church and I hope as many of you as possible will join us. The Holy Spirit is our lifeblood, the Holy Spirit is the person of the Trinity who fills us, leads us and follows us. If we let the Holy Spirit have room and if we listen carefully for her direction, her nudging, we will know peace.
Tomorrow we will also recognize our Sunday School teachers and later in the day we'll bid the program a year a final adieu with the annual choir banquet (you don't want to miss the skit---Mother Liza and Mr Bruns in a Name that Hymn contest orchestrated by Ms Rockwood and Mother Cathy.
Tomorrow we will also recognize our Sunday School teachers and later in the day we'll bid the program a year a final adieu with the annual choir banquet (you don't want to miss the skit---Mother Liza and Mr Bruns in a Name that Hymn contest orchestrated by Ms Rockwood and Mother Cathy.
Sunday, May 24, 2009
'Calgon Don't Take Me Away"
Sermon preached at St. Paul's Cathedral, Buffalo NY 24 May 2009
+ “Calgon take me away” That is my sister Anne’s favorite saying when life gets too hectic and she’s feeling stressed. Remember that ad campaign from the 1980’s? A harried woman busy at work and at home, she would , at the end of the day finally achieve some sense of peace through the tranquility and solitude of a Calgon bath.
Calgon take me away was a promise of relief from the world, a respite, an escape.
We all have times when the world becomes too much for us and we just want to escape for a while. Bubble baths, vacations, zoning out in front of the computer or the TV, taking a long walk in the woods or along the waterfront, a bike ride through Delaware Park—these are all ways we escape the stress of the world. During the everyday world of our lives, at our jobs, in our classrooms, doing the mundane tasks of housework, yard work etc. don’t we yearn for, dream of and hope for the time of escape—a reprieve from the daily grind of the world? But can we ever find complete escape? We have a respite here and there, get re-charged, revitalized, but it always comes back to the same routine, and soon we find ourselves longing to be taken away again, be it via a Calgon bath or something else. We spend a lot of time trying to divide our lives—separate the necessary drudgery of day to day life from the joy of respite, of vacation, of the weekend.
Today’s reading from John is called Jesus’ High Priestly Prayer. In it Jesus is asking God to help us be in the world, but not of the world. To help us keep our focus on all God has given us, as opposed to focusing on all those earthly items we think we need---commodities vs. love, things vs grace. Jesus knew that we, in our humanity are drawn to things we can earn all the stuff we can acquire, instead of accepting all that is simply given to us.
He prays that God will help all of us see that it is US who make this world so tough. It is us who allow our existence to be divided between drudgery and joy. Yes this world does have temptations, responsibilities and duties which can drain us, distract us and lead us down an unfulfilling path, but the answer is not to leave the world, the answer is to be in the world to be fully in the world and to gather our strength, to refresh ourselves, through the love of God as shown to us in the person of Jesus. How do we do that? How do we stay in the world yet hold onto our faith? Especially when Jesus, our great high priest has just left this world, ascended to be at his Father’s right hand.
At this point in the church year we are in what anthropologists call a liminal state—we are betwixt and between. Right now we are between the glorious miracle of resurrection and the sustaining power of the Holy Spirit. The temporal example of death’s defeat at the hands of the resurrected one has given way to a less concrete guide---Jesus has left us with a promise, a promise that we’ll always have an advocate that if we’re patient and trusting the advocate will come in the form of the Holy Spirit—who is offered as guide, as respite, as hope as re-assurer.
How easy it is, during these in between days to long for the world as it was before---when Jesus was still here, when his wounds were in front of us when the miracle was something to be seen—making it much easier to believe. When the challenge, temptations and struggles of this world could be ignored, could be refused could be run from because we could turn to the Risen One, we could turn to the person of the Resurrected Jesus and he would tell us what to do and where to go.
A time when we didn’t need to rely on each other or on ourselves. A time when Jesus would be there—right there—to guide and direct us until we are finally through with this world and on to the next.
But you see, that’s what Jesus is trying to explain in today’s Gospel-- Calgon doesn’t need to take us away, we need to plunge into the world armed with the love of God as given to us in the person of Jesus, not to endure the world, but to improve the world. Not to deny the world, but to embrace the world, not to wait for the last day when all will be ok, but to live fully into today where we celebrate the gift of life given to each of us at our birth and renewed in each one of us as we come to the altar as a community of faith, eager to be fed.
That’s the point of Jesus’ prayer as heard today---he prays that we will learn from him and be fortified through the love of God so that our presence in the world will help creation not hinder it. Jesus wants us to be instruments of God’s love. Right here on earth. Our job is not to endure this life but to enhance this life. Our job isn’t to bide our time until the last day. We needn’t look for respite or escape. We need to simply practice our faith. Our job is to go forth into the world rejoicing in the power of God’s immeasurable love for us. In this time between Ascension and Pentecost, in between our daily grind and our peaceful vacation respite we are to live into the world and to bring to all those we encounter the peace and love of God, which surpasses all understanding. We can offer the world an eternal respite, something which lasts longer than a bubble bath, provides rest never attainable on a two week cruise, we offer the world what is promised us each week as we are invited to communion: The Gifts of God.
For together we are the people of God. +
+ “Calgon take me away” That is my sister Anne’s favorite saying when life gets too hectic and she’s feeling stressed. Remember that ad campaign from the 1980’s? A harried woman busy at work and at home, she would , at the end of the day finally achieve some sense of peace through the tranquility and solitude of a Calgon bath.
Calgon take me away was a promise of relief from the world, a respite, an escape.
We all have times when the world becomes too much for us and we just want to escape for a while. Bubble baths, vacations, zoning out in front of the computer or the TV, taking a long walk in the woods or along the waterfront, a bike ride through Delaware Park—these are all ways we escape the stress of the world. During the everyday world of our lives, at our jobs, in our classrooms, doing the mundane tasks of housework, yard work etc. don’t we yearn for, dream of and hope for the time of escape—a reprieve from the daily grind of the world? But can we ever find complete escape? We have a respite here and there, get re-charged, revitalized, but it always comes back to the same routine, and soon we find ourselves longing to be taken away again, be it via a Calgon bath or something else. We spend a lot of time trying to divide our lives—separate the necessary drudgery of day to day life from the joy of respite, of vacation, of the weekend.
Today’s reading from John is called Jesus’ High Priestly Prayer. In it Jesus is asking God to help us be in the world, but not of the world. To help us keep our focus on all God has given us, as opposed to focusing on all those earthly items we think we need---commodities vs. love, things vs grace. Jesus knew that we, in our humanity are drawn to things we can earn all the stuff we can acquire, instead of accepting all that is simply given to us.
He prays that God will help all of us see that it is US who make this world so tough. It is us who allow our existence to be divided between drudgery and joy. Yes this world does have temptations, responsibilities and duties which can drain us, distract us and lead us down an unfulfilling path, but the answer is not to leave the world, the answer is to be in the world to be fully in the world and to gather our strength, to refresh ourselves, through the love of God as shown to us in the person of Jesus. How do we do that? How do we stay in the world yet hold onto our faith? Especially when Jesus, our great high priest has just left this world, ascended to be at his Father’s right hand.
At this point in the church year we are in what anthropologists call a liminal state—we are betwixt and between. Right now we are between the glorious miracle of resurrection and the sustaining power of the Holy Spirit. The temporal example of death’s defeat at the hands of the resurrected one has given way to a less concrete guide---Jesus has left us with a promise, a promise that we’ll always have an advocate that if we’re patient and trusting the advocate will come in the form of the Holy Spirit—who is offered as guide, as respite, as hope as re-assurer.
How easy it is, during these in between days to long for the world as it was before---when Jesus was still here, when his wounds were in front of us when the miracle was something to be seen—making it much easier to believe. When the challenge, temptations and struggles of this world could be ignored, could be refused could be run from because we could turn to the Risen One, we could turn to the person of the Resurrected Jesus and he would tell us what to do and where to go.
A time when we didn’t need to rely on each other or on ourselves. A time when Jesus would be there—right there—to guide and direct us until we are finally through with this world and on to the next.
But you see, that’s what Jesus is trying to explain in today’s Gospel-- Calgon doesn’t need to take us away, we need to plunge into the world armed with the love of God as given to us in the person of Jesus, not to endure the world, but to improve the world. Not to deny the world, but to embrace the world, not to wait for the last day when all will be ok, but to live fully into today where we celebrate the gift of life given to each of us at our birth and renewed in each one of us as we come to the altar as a community of faith, eager to be fed.
That’s the point of Jesus’ prayer as heard today---he prays that we will learn from him and be fortified through the love of God so that our presence in the world will help creation not hinder it. Jesus wants us to be instruments of God’s love. Right here on earth. Our job is not to endure this life but to enhance this life. Our job isn’t to bide our time until the last day. We needn’t look for respite or escape. We need to simply practice our faith. Our job is to go forth into the world rejoicing in the power of God’s immeasurable love for us. In this time between Ascension and Pentecost, in between our daily grind and our peaceful vacation respite we are to live into the world and to bring to all those we encounter the peace and love of God, which surpasses all understanding. We can offer the world an eternal respite, something which lasts longer than a bubble bath, provides rest never attainable on a two week cruise, we offer the world what is promised us each week as we are invited to communion: The Gifts of God.
For together we are the people of God. +
Saturday, May 16, 2009
Youth Ministry
After reading a blog entry at:
http://raphael.doxos.com/2009/05/16/genx-ministry/comment-page-1/#comment-11241
I wanted to talk about youth ministry. Am I wrong to think that ministry to teens should focus on those who are no longer teens mentoring current teens? I fear that too much "youth ministry" is an attempt by people who are no longer teenagers holding onto a past which is, due to the passage of time, over.
Life is dynamic. Our job as living beings, is to move toward what's next. God's creation is a motion packed work in progress. No do-agains, no looking back...it's a movement toward the next, using the wisdom gained from what happened before to take the next step, to do the next right thing as best we can.
When given the honor of leading young people shouldn't we keep THEIR interests, THEIR goals, THEIR desires in the forefront? Not ours now and not what we wanted when we were teens? To use the teens of today to hold onto our youth is, at worst, abusive and at best, selfish.
http://raphael.doxos.com/2009/05/16/genx-ministry/comment-page-1/#comment-11241
I wanted to talk about youth ministry. Am I wrong to think that ministry to teens should focus on those who are no longer teens mentoring current teens? I fear that too much "youth ministry" is an attempt by people who are no longer teenagers holding onto a past which is, due to the passage of time, over.
Life is dynamic. Our job as living beings, is to move toward what's next. God's creation is a motion packed work in progress. No do-agains, no looking back...it's a movement toward the next, using the wisdom gained from what happened before to take the next step, to do the next right thing as best we can.
When given the honor of leading young people shouldn't we keep THEIR interests, THEIR goals, THEIR desires in the forefront? Not ours now and not what we wanted when we were teens? To use the teens of today to hold onto our youth is, at worst, abusive and at best, selfish.
Friday, May 8, 2009
NEXT YOUTH GROUP MEETING
May 17th after the Friends of Music Concert we will have a cook out and game night. OR instead of games we may need to practice our softball skills as St Martin in the Fields has a trophy which the Cathedral would dearly love to re-claim. Show up May 17th at 4:30 for more details......
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Life and Death...interrupted
Today's Sermon
Easter 3 Yr. B April 26, 2009
Alyssa was four years old when baby brother David arrived on the scene. One day, after David had been in the family for several months, Alyssa asked, “will David be here for Christmas?” “ Yes,” replied her mother. “Will he be here every Christmas?” Alyssa responded. “Why yes, he will be here for every Christmas from now on,” replied mom.
As her eyes opened to this new reality Alyssa responded with an emphatic, “RATS, ” and then marched up to her room, indignant.
New life is disruptive. Not only for older siblings but for anyone encountering something new in their midst.
Whether it ‘s actually a new life---a birth, an adoption a new co-worker or new neighbor the dynamic of a family, organization, or relationship is changed when someone new enters the mix. Our eyes are opened to a new reality, which is unfamiliar and cumbersome. As we get used to it, we may stumble, we may stammer we may even, in exasperation, exclaim: RATS and turn away.
Death disrupts as well. How many times did I, after my own father’s death, think, oh I need to call Dad and tell him about this or that or the other thing…only to be brought up short with the realization that I couldn’t call him. Ever. Family gatherings are not the same when grandparents, parents, siblings or children aren’t there----it changes the whole experience when someone is missing. It too is cumbersome and we may stumble and fall as we adjust [to this new reality].
The apostles, on this long long day of resurrection, experience both the disorienting events of death and then shockingly, new life. All in the same day. It began with mournful yet dutiful Mary Magdalene trudging to the tomb, to finish anointing the body of her beloved teacher. It continued with some disciples lamenting the loss of Jesus and all the events that lead up to the crucifixion as they journeyed toward Emmaus. And then, as we heard last week in John’s Gospel and today in Luke’s the eleven are huddled in the locked upper room, fearful, dismayed and disoriented by the events of the previous few days. The living are trying to regain their bearings following the death of a loved one…trying to figure out what to do next, how to carry on with someone missing.
But, in each instance, the grieving is interrupted, disrupted, and blown apart by the simple actions of the Risen Jesus—to Mary he simply says her name, to Thomas and the others he shows that he is flesh and bones, not a ghost, not a mirage.Through simple gestures of speech, touch and eating Jesus discloses the amazing truth: death has been replaced by life.
And suddenly, everything, once again, is changed. It isn’t as it was with Jesus dead, but it isn’t what it was when Jesus was alive either. It is hard to figure out. Just what is going on? Alleluia Christ is Risen. But what does that mean?
Now what? What do we do?
In a few hours this band of followers have gone from the disruption and disorientation of death to the disruption and disorientation of new life. They are, as we are told in two of our readings this morning, witnesses to these things.
Ask any police officer and they’ll tell you, put three witnesses in a room and you will get three different stories. Not because anyone is lying or being deliberately deceptive but because, when in a scary situation, when shocked by what we see, our perceptions get altered, our memories get confused, we aren’t sure of what it was we just saw. Or, we ARE sure of what we just saw, but we just can’t believe it.
I know that when I see something amazing---something tragic and horrible or miraculous and life giving, I have a tendency to stop dead in my tracks. It’s as if the automatic actions of living—breathing, talking, blinking, and walking--stop. Suddenly there is nothing we can do except gape, mouth open, eyes wide. It is as if we must open all our senses to comprehend what has just happened. The world as we have come to expect it, is changed, perhaps for just a moment, perhaps forever….but it is changed. ..and we need some time to adjust. Was what we just saw really what we just saw?
It takes some time for our eyes to be opened to this new reality.
Our readings early in this Easter season show us a whole group of people trying to come to grips with the disruptive events of life, death and then life again. A series of events unfolding at lightening speed leaving the disciples confused, frightened and seemingly in the dark about the new reality of Easter. But then, the risen Jesus opens their eyes and their hearts burn with a recognition which, while familiar, is also incomprehensible.
Jesus opened their eyes so they could finally begin to see, to comprehend to understand. It was a process of fits and starts as they tried to regain their footing in this new reality. Now it’s easy to scoff at the disciples—how could they NOT see? But truth be told, how often do we not see?
In the collect for today we ask that the eyes of our faith may be opened to behold the redeeming work of God in the world. Have our eyes been opened? If so, what do these opened eyes see?
Don’t we see the Risen Christ in the eyes of our co-workers, in the chatter of carpool kids in the backseat of the car, in the laugh shared at coffee hour, in the wave another driver gives us at the stop sign. You see, when our eyes are opened through our faith we find the Risen One everywhere, in the brokenness of another’s hurt, a hurt we try to soothe by listening, by being present. When our eyes are opened through our faith the risen Christ is found when we bring a bag of rice for the food pantry, when we linger with the elderly neighbor who is lonely. Our eyes are opened to see the Risen Christ when we support our youth and children. Our eyes are opened to the Risen Christ, our hands touch his wounds when we remember that the welfare of the world we live in, the caretaking of creation as bestowed to us by God , is dependent on us living dying and rising to life again every single day. It may be disruptive, it may be uncomfortable, it may be messy, but such is a life with a savior who has redeemed us to be an Easter people.
Amen.
Easter 3 Yr. B April 26, 2009
Alyssa was four years old when baby brother David arrived on the scene. One day, after David had been in the family for several months, Alyssa asked, “will David be here for Christmas?” “ Yes,” replied her mother. “Will he be here every Christmas?” Alyssa responded. “Why yes, he will be here for every Christmas from now on,” replied mom.
As her eyes opened to this new reality Alyssa responded with an emphatic, “RATS, ” and then marched up to her room, indignant.
New life is disruptive. Not only for older siblings but for anyone encountering something new in their midst.
Whether it ‘s actually a new life---a birth, an adoption a new co-worker or new neighbor the dynamic of a family, organization, or relationship is changed when someone new enters the mix. Our eyes are opened to a new reality, which is unfamiliar and cumbersome. As we get used to it, we may stumble, we may stammer we may even, in exasperation, exclaim: RATS and turn away.
Death disrupts as well. How many times did I, after my own father’s death, think, oh I need to call Dad and tell him about this or that or the other thing…only to be brought up short with the realization that I couldn’t call him. Ever. Family gatherings are not the same when grandparents, parents, siblings or children aren’t there----it changes the whole experience when someone is missing. It too is cumbersome and we may stumble and fall as we adjust [to this new reality].
The apostles, on this long long day of resurrection, experience both the disorienting events of death and then shockingly, new life. All in the same day. It began with mournful yet dutiful Mary Magdalene trudging to the tomb, to finish anointing the body of her beloved teacher. It continued with some disciples lamenting the loss of Jesus and all the events that lead up to the crucifixion as they journeyed toward Emmaus. And then, as we heard last week in John’s Gospel and today in Luke’s the eleven are huddled in the locked upper room, fearful, dismayed and disoriented by the events of the previous few days. The living are trying to regain their bearings following the death of a loved one…trying to figure out what to do next, how to carry on with someone missing.
But, in each instance, the grieving is interrupted, disrupted, and blown apart by the simple actions of the Risen Jesus—to Mary he simply says her name, to Thomas and the others he shows that he is flesh and bones, not a ghost, not a mirage.Through simple gestures of speech, touch and eating Jesus discloses the amazing truth: death has been replaced by life.
And suddenly, everything, once again, is changed. It isn’t as it was with Jesus dead, but it isn’t what it was when Jesus was alive either. It is hard to figure out. Just what is going on? Alleluia Christ is Risen. But what does that mean?
Now what? What do we do?
In a few hours this band of followers have gone from the disruption and disorientation of death to the disruption and disorientation of new life. They are, as we are told in two of our readings this morning, witnesses to these things.
Ask any police officer and they’ll tell you, put three witnesses in a room and you will get three different stories. Not because anyone is lying or being deliberately deceptive but because, when in a scary situation, when shocked by what we see, our perceptions get altered, our memories get confused, we aren’t sure of what it was we just saw. Or, we ARE sure of what we just saw, but we just can’t believe it.
I know that when I see something amazing---something tragic and horrible or miraculous and life giving, I have a tendency to stop dead in my tracks. It’s as if the automatic actions of living—breathing, talking, blinking, and walking--stop. Suddenly there is nothing we can do except gape, mouth open, eyes wide. It is as if we must open all our senses to comprehend what has just happened. The world as we have come to expect it, is changed, perhaps for just a moment, perhaps forever….but it is changed. ..and we need some time to adjust. Was what we just saw really what we just saw?
It takes some time for our eyes to be opened to this new reality.
Our readings early in this Easter season show us a whole group of people trying to come to grips with the disruptive events of life, death and then life again. A series of events unfolding at lightening speed leaving the disciples confused, frightened and seemingly in the dark about the new reality of Easter. But then, the risen Jesus opens their eyes and their hearts burn with a recognition which, while familiar, is also incomprehensible.
Jesus opened their eyes so they could finally begin to see, to comprehend to understand. It was a process of fits and starts as they tried to regain their footing in this new reality. Now it’s easy to scoff at the disciples—how could they NOT see? But truth be told, how often do we not see?
In the collect for today we ask that the eyes of our faith may be opened to behold the redeeming work of God in the world. Have our eyes been opened? If so, what do these opened eyes see?
Don’t we see the Risen Christ in the eyes of our co-workers, in the chatter of carpool kids in the backseat of the car, in the laugh shared at coffee hour, in the wave another driver gives us at the stop sign. You see, when our eyes are opened through our faith we find the Risen One everywhere, in the brokenness of another’s hurt, a hurt we try to soothe by listening, by being present. When our eyes are opened through our faith the risen Christ is found when we bring a bag of rice for the food pantry, when we linger with the elderly neighbor who is lonely. Our eyes are opened to see the Risen Christ when we support our youth and children. Our eyes are opened to the Risen Christ, our hands touch his wounds when we remember that the welfare of the world we live in, the caretaking of creation as bestowed to us by God , is dependent on us living dying and rising to life again every single day. It may be disruptive, it may be uncomfortable, it may be messy, but such is a life with a savior who has redeemed us to be an Easter people.
Amen.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Waiting, watching and remembering.
Maundy Thursday sermon, April 9, 2009
***The Gospel used at the Cathedral is Luke 22:14-30 as the foot washing is not practiced at St. Paul’s. ***
+Some 16 years ago as my father lay dying my extended family and I gathered round his hospital bed telling stories of the past-- funny stories about George, our dad, grandfather, husband and friend. We laughed and laughed at the memories until finally my mother noticed that his labored breathing had stopped. Dad was gone.
His final journey had been arduous and for the last three weeks of his life he was in the hospital, slowly descending into the grips of death. It was during those weeks and most especially those final days and hours that we had the opportunity to bear witness to Dad’s journey. During those final days we waited and watched with him. Many times there were no words, it was simply our presence that gave him the strength he needed to die. The memory of that waiting and watching with Dad will always be with me and sharing those memories as a family strengthens us, those memories make us who we are. Remembering that time is important because remembering the past helps us navigate the present. Walking with Dad and remembering that walk, is a big part of who I am today. Remembering forms us into who we are now.
Jesus took these two points—the walking with now and the remembering later and made them the focal point of that Thursday evening supper during the first Holy Week. “wait with me. Be with me as I move toward the inevitable. And then, when it is over, remember it all, remember me.” Jesus needed his friends to wait with him, to watch with him, to walk this final walk toward death with him. The week had such a promising start--the triumphal entry into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday, but then over the next few days the triumph changed to despair as one by one the supporters fell away, denying him, deserting him, turning on him.
Tonight we meet Jesus halfway through this week, when all the questioning, the fear, the denial and the betrayal has been put in motion. ..the disciples are arguing, debating and gossiping…no one seems t o be paying attention. It’s a Seder, the ancient Jewish meal remembering Jewish people’s liberation from slavery, a story each of the disciples knew, a story integral to their Jewish identity. It’s possible this telling of the Passover story had become rote for them, they were just going through the ritual motions. But Jesus needed them to pay attention because on this night, as he had done so many times in the past, Jesus would take something utterly familiar, something very comfortable and turn it upside down and inside out.
Jesus knew that remembering was a key component of community building and he knew that the community of the burgeoning primitive church was going to need strength, a strength built on the telling of stories, built on the remembering of what came before.
Every one of us has stories, stories which have been handed down to us by parents and grandparents. Whatever the specifics we tell and re-tell these tales because they contribute to our identity, they make us who we are.
Jesus, on this night so long ago didn’t want his friends to forget his story. Not because he was some kind of egomaniac but because he knew the value of telling a story. Just as the story telling at my father’s bedside forged our family and friends into a stronger bond, Jesus wanted his friends to wait with him, to watch with him and then when he was gone, to tell the story, to remember and to be strengthened by the story enough to keep it going. He wants the same for us--for the work Jesus started is not yet finished and we as inheritors of the faith must carry it on. We must ingest these stories of Jesus. And to carry on the work we must claim the stories as our own, not only by telling them but by living them.
That’s why we have the Eucharist every week, because not only do we need to say it and hear it, we need to be it. So we take, we eat and we remember.
In a few minutes after sharing in the Eucharist one last time, we’ll strip the altar, while lamenting the betrayal, loss and despair of the next three days. We’ll strip ourselves bare to feel the pain and loss of Jesus’ death. We do this not because we need to be punished, not because we need to hurt. We do this so we can remember. So we’ll remember not just with words, not just with thoughts, but with actions. For when we strip our sacred space of all that is familiar, when we enter into the darkness of this long night, waiting watching and weeping with Christ, we remember. And through our remembering we are strengthened. Each time we take and eat we are remembering the story and with each remembrance we gain strength. The strength needed to continue to do the work God has given us to do. Amen.
***The Gospel used at the Cathedral is Luke 22:14-30 as the foot washing is not practiced at St. Paul’s. ***
+Some 16 years ago as my father lay dying my extended family and I gathered round his hospital bed telling stories of the past-- funny stories about George, our dad, grandfather, husband and friend. We laughed and laughed at the memories until finally my mother noticed that his labored breathing had stopped. Dad was gone.
His final journey had been arduous and for the last three weeks of his life he was in the hospital, slowly descending into the grips of death. It was during those weeks and most especially those final days and hours that we had the opportunity to bear witness to Dad’s journey. During those final days we waited and watched with him. Many times there were no words, it was simply our presence that gave him the strength he needed to die. The memory of that waiting and watching with Dad will always be with me and sharing those memories as a family strengthens us, those memories make us who we are. Remembering that time is important because remembering the past helps us navigate the present. Walking with Dad and remembering that walk, is a big part of who I am today. Remembering forms us into who we are now.
Jesus took these two points—the walking with now and the remembering later and made them the focal point of that Thursday evening supper during the first Holy Week. “wait with me. Be with me as I move toward the inevitable. And then, when it is over, remember it all, remember me.” Jesus needed his friends to wait with him, to watch with him, to walk this final walk toward death with him. The week had such a promising start--the triumphal entry into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday, but then over the next few days the triumph changed to despair as one by one the supporters fell away, denying him, deserting him, turning on him.
Tonight we meet Jesus halfway through this week, when all the questioning, the fear, the denial and the betrayal has been put in motion. ..the disciples are arguing, debating and gossiping…no one seems t o be paying attention. It’s a Seder, the ancient Jewish meal remembering Jewish people’s liberation from slavery, a story each of the disciples knew, a story integral to their Jewish identity. It’s possible this telling of the Passover story had become rote for them, they were just going through the ritual motions. But Jesus needed them to pay attention because on this night, as he had done so many times in the past, Jesus would take something utterly familiar, something very comfortable and turn it upside down and inside out.
Jesus knew that remembering was a key component of community building and he knew that the community of the burgeoning primitive church was going to need strength, a strength built on the telling of stories, built on the remembering of what came before.
Every one of us has stories, stories which have been handed down to us by parents and grandparents. Whatever the specifics we tell and re-tell these tales because they contribute to our identity, they make us who we are.
Jesus, on this night so long ago didn’t want his friends to forget his story. Not because he was some kind of egomaniac but because he knew the value of telling a story. Just as the story telling at my father’s bedside forged our family and friends into a stronger bond, Jesus wanted his friends to wait with him, to watch with him and then when he was gone, to tell the story, to remember and to be strengthened by the story enough to keep it going. He wants the same for us--for the work Jesus started is not yet finished and we as inheritors of the faith must carry it on. We must ingest these stories of Jesus. And to carry on the work we must claim the stories as our own, not only by telling them but by living them.
That’s why we have the Eucharist every week, because not only do we need to say it and hear it, we need to be it. So we take, we eat and we remember.
In a few minutes after sharing in the Eucharist one last time, we’ll strip the altar, while lamenting the betrayal, loss and despair of the next three days. We’ll strip ourselves bare to feel the pain and loss of Jesus’ death. We do this not because we need to be punished, not because we need to hurt. We do this so we can remember. So we’ll remember not just with words, not just with thoughts, but with actions. For when we strip our sacred space of all that is familiar, when we enter into the darkness of this long night, waiting watching and weeping with Christ, we remember. And through our remembering we are strengthened. Each time we take and eat we are remembering the story and with each remembrance we gain strength. The strength needed to continue to do the work God has given us to do. Amen.
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