The Good News Is A Party

Tuesdays at Seminary of the Southwest meant two very important things. One, it was soup day in the dining hall—a huge plus! And two, right before we had lunch together we shared in the Lord’s Supper together in the Chapel using a Spanish language service. For all its gifts, the Episcopal Church has not provided a very good Spanish language Prayer Book. But, there is one line that always stood out as authentic and profound when we said the Eucharist together.

After the priest says the Eucharistic Prayer and breaks the bread at what is called the Fraction, often some words follow the moment of silence. In English the celebrant will sometimes say:
“Alleluia! Christ our Passover, has been sacrificed for us.”
The people reply, “Therefore let us keep the feast. Alleluia!” To me these words sound particularly formal in English, like we are attending a frigid banquet for a king or queen; however the bit that I most clearly recall from the Spanish-speaking Eucharist indicates something quite different.

Celebrant: [¡Aleluya!] Cristo, nuestra Pascua, se ha sacrificado por
nosotros.
People: ¡Celebremos la fiesta! [¡Aleluya!]

These words carry a more festive feel, as though they are saying: “Let’s get this party going!” God has given us a great gift through Jesus showing us that life conquers death, why wouldn’t we celebrate? Of all the Gospel accounts, John’s words most clearly take on this same belief: in the coming of Christ the world—all of Creation celebrates!

Right off the bat in John’s telling of the Good News, Jesus partakes in celebrating. His first sign—pointing to God’s glory—came at a wedding party in Cana. While the story always makes me laugh because his mother has to coax him into acting, Jesus eventually turns a lot of water into a lot of wine—like way more wine than could be consumed at even a huge wedding. This indicates to us that God’s reign, as expressed in Christ coming to earth, is not just an everyday affair. God coming to dwell with us deserves a party of abundance that is a fete, a fiesta, a raging party for the ages!

John does not stop here. Throughout the entire Gospel there are stories of abundance: Jesus healing a royal official in Cana, curing a paralyzed person at Bethsaida, feeding the five thousand in the wilderness, and raising Lazarus from the dead at Bethany are just a few examples of the abundant, joyful celebration that is life in Christ. While other Gospel accounts tell of the Last Supper being a Passover meal, John instead tells this story from the perspective that Jesus himself is the bread on which the world will feast. He is the one who provides the sustenance, the fuel for the party to continue.

Often Episcopal clergy people will lament one aspect of the way John tells this festive tale of Jesus coming to set God’s people free. Throughout the summer months for five straight weeks we are stuck in Jesus’ Bread of Life description. He has come as the bread on which the world will feast and be freed, and yet for several weeks in a row clergy people must rehash this same theme over and over again. What I can happily say now—even though we will get those text in just a few short months—is that this overly descriptive part of John’s Gospel account gives us a glimpse into even the overabundance in describing how Jesus feeds us through his loving presence in this world.

Life in Christ is not a frigid affair. In this season of Nativity when we recall the light of Christ coming into the darkness and drear of this time of year, may we be enlivened by John’s sharing of the Good News. We celebrate the apostle and evangelist today—as part of our Christmas festivities. May the exciting, uplifting, and festive way that John shared the Good News dwell in our hearts at this time of year and always. May we celebrate life in Christ as a party of unequaled proportions!

Uncover Your Ears

Are we reliving the story of Stephen every time we don't listen to the prophets of our own day?

When people ask me what is the best part of my work week many moments rush to mind. Sunday services, Christian Formation, Centering Prayer, Staff Meeting (yes, I said Staff Meeting), and Wednesday Night Series all stand out as marvelous, but one other very informal gathering also sits near the top of this list. Theology on Tap (TonT)—which happens most Thursdays at 5:15, although not this next one—provides  a space for fellowship and fun to be had amongst our Christian community.

As the clergy often remind those who show up at the Brick Deli on Thursday nights, no one comes for the question. Each week though, Evan or I ask something that hopefully sparks at least a small conversation about God, religion, spirituality, faith, theology, or life. Usually everyone talks for a moment about it and then returns to whatever it was they were discussing previously. Sometimes though the question sticks with you. Like a few months ago when something was asked that I am still pondering.

Evan enquired, “Who are the prophets of our own day?” After he asked this, instead of turning back to what we had talked about earlier, most people discussed this query for some time. One said, “Poor people who share what life is like below the poverty line.” Another stated, “Religious leaders who advocate for unity across religious boundaries.” My response was environmental scientists who tell us that our carelessness has consequences. Still others pointed to women, people of color, or others who have historically and even now still struggle to gain equality. I am still wondering, “Who are the prophets of our own day?” Especially on this St. Stephen’s Day we would do well not only to figure out who they are, but also to listen to what the Spirit is saying through them to the Church.

We remember on the day after Christmas the deacon and martyr St. Stephen. He is the protomartyr in the Church—the first one to give up his life in witness to the Gospel of Jesus Christ. We heard the retelling of this story in today’s lesson from the Acts of the Apostles. What stands out today for me from this event relates less with Stephen’s actions and more with the response of the people around him.

God’s Spirit clearly shined in the works of Stephen who the Church charged with caring for the poor. When he came to the synagogue of the Freedmen those there did not have ears to hear Stephen’s challenging message. Like Jesus before him, Stephen challenged the status quo. He was a prophetic messenger of change—pointing to God’s grace instead of the law of man. When the elders heard what he said, they were livid. Stephen though did not back down, instead calling to mind the prophetic voices of the past.

Stephen pointed to the work of the Spirit, which has always been moving over God’s children. He also signified that those in this synagogue had their ears stopped up, such that they could not hear God speaking something new in their lives. Even as Stephen’s appearance was transfigured, like that of Jesus during the Transfiguration, the angry people around him could not see the Truth. When Stephen saw a vision of heaven opening up that was the last straw for his persecutors. Their response was to cover their ears, yelling, as they attacked the innocent deacon.

As I turn back to thinking of Evan’s TonT question, I wonder whose voice—whose prophetic voice—am I not hearing? Ones pointing to environmental crises? Transgender people who are persecuted for using the restroom? Female colleagues who say even the hiring processes in the Church are rigged against them? People of color who still cry out about police brutality? The elderly who have no one to advocate for them? Who is it? Who are the prophets of our age? How will we uncover our ears? Will we hear their voices or will we choose to stone them not with stones or violence, but with our silence and inaction?

God Wants Into Our Lives

Fra Angelico's depiction of God entering Mary's life at the "Annunciation"

It’s tempting isn’t it? To overlook this story of Gabriel visiting the Virgin Mary because we hear it so often at this time of year. Christmas pageants and Christmas carols make it so ubiquitous that we write it off. “Been there, done that. Let me tune out, so I can think of all those outstanding items on my Christmas to-do list.”

It’s tempting also to ponder some odd things about Mary. We think too highly of her—that she is a god herself—or too lowly of her—that she was a puppet that God controlled. These temptations might lead us down some difficult paths: idol worship in the former case or viewing God as a coercive puppet master in the latter case.

Or, maybe we just don’t believe in the supernatural at all—Ghosts? Zombies? Angels? Virgin births? Come on! But, even if we hurdle these temptations—boredom, idol worship, vilifying God, and believing in the unbelievable—there is one more temptation surrounding this story.

As we listen to this all-too-familiar tale, if we are to hear it, believe it, and take it seriously, we may still relegate its power by thinking that it was the type of event that only happened long ago. While all of these temptations teeter on the edge of danger, this last belief may very well cause us the most damage: God merely intervened in human history long ago in a place far away.

When we look around at our world though, we can easily think that God no longer mettles in human affairs. At this time of year news outlets publish their most noteworthy stories of the last twelve months. One does not have to scroll through many to see some devastating trends: political gridlock, religious terrorism, sexual abuse scandals, environmental crises, and the threat of nuclear annihilation. This does not even touch on personal struggles such as crumbling relationships, debilitating diagnoses, financial hardship, substance abuse, and mental illness. When reading today’s Gospel lesson through the lens of our corporate and individual lives, no one would blame us for believing whole-heartedly that God entered human history long ago leaving us abandoned to create the hellscape in which we currently persist.

And, so we may very well wonder: Why God? Why do you let this happen? Where is God in all this mess? Can God really heal or turn around our problems?

If somehow though, I close my eyes for a moment. Maybe, if I take a step back for a second. Perhaps, if I pause long enough to engage this story of God and Gabriel and Mary with new eyes, I catch a glimpse of something shining and shimmering —something that leads me and leads us not into ancient tradition, but into something happening right now. If we wipe away the way that we have always heard this story, we can hear it speaking directly to us. A crumbling world, a people yearning for something more, a lowly individual, and a God so in love with the created universe—this is not the story of long ago, this is the story of right now. God intervening in the life of Mary points to God coming into the lives of all humans throughout time. This is so much more than just a funny tale we tell at this time of year.

Back long ago the hope of the People of Israel had been clearly articulated for not just centuries but millennia: a Messiah who would come to set all people free through God’s Chosen People. However, if one waits long enough for something without it happening one may very well start to believe that even though something was promised it will never happen in one’s lifetime. Not only this, but during Mary’s day the People of Israel found themselves in a difficult, if not unfamiliar, predicament. Once again another nation ruled over them. Like during Assyrian and Babylonian captivities before, the anticipation of salvation via a Messiah may have been a stated hope, but it certainly did not appear a likely scenario. And yet, under Roman occupation God chose to intervene in human history—even in a moment when it was the great hope of God’s people, the infinite becoming finite was completely unexpected. This is not just history though.
This week your clergy have taken to their blogs to chide our colleagues who have overlooked the Fourth Sunday of Advent in favor of celebrating Christmas Eve prematurely this morning. Yes, we’re childish! But, seemingly our biggest frustration lay not in the rule breaking, but rather in the missed opportunity to celebrate this occasion and to hear the story of the Annunciation. How can we celebrate God entering into this world at Bethlehem without the story of Nazareth? It would be like viewing the empty tomb without the last supper, the betrayal, and the crucifixion of Christ during Holy Week. This season of Advent that we are still walking through gives us this gift of anticipating, waiting, and even expecting the Coming of Christ. We may get caught up in remembering Christ fulfilling the law and the prophets through Jesus, we may even get caught looking ahead for the ultimate fulfillment of all things through Christ at the end of days, and with all this looking around we might just miss what is happening now.

Mary’s story gives us the key to unlocking something big. We see through her a glimpse of God entering into our reality in this moment—even when things are dire and difficult. Mary trusted that a Messiah would come. She understood that God would make all things whole. Her song the Magnificat shows us her heart and her hopes. She yearned for those things for which God yearns, the lowly becoming exalted and the exalted becoming lowly. And yet, she believed all of this against the backdrop of violence, destruction, oppression, inequality, and mental illness around her. Does this sound familiar?

One of those most basic calls that we hear during this season of Advent is something Mary models for us: Slow down, be quiet, and listen for God. God promises to come back to us. God tells us that Christ will come again. God bids us to keep awake. Still, somehow we have manage to create in our lives more and more opportunities not to listen. It’s like we are people who do not want to hear any spoilers from the newest mega-Movie, and so we run around with our fingers plugging up our ears, yelling, “Lalalalalalala!” Except, this is not a movie plot we are missing—it is GOD!

Mary gifts us with a template for unstopping our ears, removing the scales from our eyes, and experiencing God intervening in human history right now! Before you think that you are not like Mary—think again. Mary was a female in an age that saw women as property, she was lowly. Mary was related to a temple priest and betrothed to a man from the royal line of David, she was powerful. She was faithful and yet she questioned the messenger of God. Mary was a human being—complex and complicated—just like you and me. When God sent Gabriel to her though, she had a choice. God did not coerce her into being a hapless vessel of His bidding. Even through perplexity and questions God invited Mary to bear the Divine into humanity. God’s omnipotence became particular in Mary. God’s almightiness became vulnerable in the womb of Mary. God’s infinite love became enfleshed within Mary.

At a time when everything around the Chosen People of God appeared dark and lost God chose Mary to bear the Savior of all things into this world. We know through the Gospel that Jesus’s life, death, and resurrection rerouted existence forever; however, God did not stop moving then. As soon as God chose Mary and Mary chose God all of humanity began to shift. We have not fully realized this transformation yet, but even now God is moving. In Mary’s yes God inaugurated a reign that sanctified even the most lowly and mundane of human occurrences. The life of Jesus, which made all things holy began with a woman saying, “Let it be with me according to your word.”

God wants into our lives to bring us healing and health, salvation and sanctification, mercy and grace, transformation and reconciliation, peace and love. Like a momentous earthquake God shook Mary’s existence, but those shockwaves can crash throughout our lives too. Will we notice God coming into our lives? Will we hear God saying, “Bear me into the world!”? Will we say, like Mary, “Here am I, the servant of the Lord: let it be with me according to your word.” God yearns to dwell with us and to heal this hurting world. How will we receive him?

The Dark Before the Dawn

What does the shortest day of the year have to do with St. Thomas?

Nine hours and fifty minutes, that is how much daylight we experienced today. If you would like to get a little bit more specific the sun rose at 6:50:59 AM this morning and set at 4:41:12 PM about fifty minutes before this evening’s service began. Of course, if you long for many daylight hours tomorrow is not your day. December 21st features almost a minute less light than today with the sun rising 30 seconds later and the sun setting 30 seconds earlier. Tomorrow, as you probably already know, is the shortest day of the year. It is also the day that the Church sets aside to celebrate Thomas, the twin, one of the twelve disciples—and we have moved that feast to this evening. We could pass over this connection between Thomas and the shortest day of the year quickly thinking it coincidence, but if we look at the life of this saint we will realize the connection with darkness is anything but coincidental.

A few weeks ago Evan preached on Sunday morning that the Christmas Season was not celebrated for about three hundred years after Jesus’ time on earth. In fact, it took a decree from the Roman Emperor to get the Nativity cycle started, and this was at least in part to subsume the pagan holiday of Saturnalia—in addition to recognizing that the Feast of the Annunciation was nine months earlier. But simply placing the day of Christmas around the same time as a raucous festival like Saturnalia would not woo those pagans to Christianity. So how did the Church wrestle away the hearts of those wild ones long ago?

At this time of the year you may notice that we celebrate a lot of big-time occasions in the church! Of course, there are Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, and Epiphany, but we also have St. Stephen’s Day on the 26th, St. John the Evangelist’s Day on the 27th, Holy Innocents on the 28th, and Holy Name on January 1st. And, tonight we celebrate the Eve of St. Thomas’ Day. Why so much celebrating? I believe those Christians wanted to lure over even the pagans into not only a day of celebrating, but a whole festive season. While all these feast days may not be major ones, they all point to what it means to be a follower of the Incarnate God. “Alright, alright,” you say, “But, why start with Thomas on the 21st?” Well, it’s as obvious as the difference between night and day you see.

The shortest day of the year, at least in the Northern Hemisphere, means it is the darkest day of the year and who better to teach us about moving through the dark than the disciple of doubt St. Thomas? Thomas was not with the other disciples on the day of Resurrection. Where was he? Well, he was out. Perhaps this meant he was more scared than the rest, but that appears illogical, as the most afraid would have presumably been the most hidden. He could have been going to comfort others, helping the poor, or trying to figure out where Jesus was if he was not in the tomb. When he came back he discovered that the others had been visited by the Risen Lord, he wanted what they received—an encounter with Jesus. Thomas’ desire to see God often gets framed as doubt, but I’m not so sure I would classify it as such.

St. Thomas’ witness of the gospel stretches far beyond being an excuse for us to question God. For the rest of the disciples Jesus’ Resurrection was made real on the Easter evening, but Thomas sat dwelling in the darkness of Good Friday for another week before Christ’s light dispelled the gloom. We may very well celebrate this saint’s day on the darkest day because he was the one who had to wait so long for his vision of Resurrection. This is so helpful for us at this time of year.

I am not sure about you, but at this time of year I notice more the absence of those who have previously been so meaningful in my life. Thomas noticed Jesus’ absence, and longed to see him again. He yearned for the light to come into not just any darkness, but his darkness. We yearn for this too. For many this is a cheerful time, but for those who miss their loved ones around the dining room table or the Christmas tree Thomas gives us hope. Christ Jesus responds to Thomas’ frustrations and yearnings with an appearance that points to the truth that darkness will not be forever. Christ’s light will shine in the darkness and the darkness cannot overcome his light.

On these shortest days of the year, when the light seems absent, and the dark appears heavy I invite you to wait with Thomas. The darkest moments are tough. We want so badly to rush out of them; however, in the deepest gloom we have the greatest opportunity to practice that belief in the light and our trust in God’s faithfulness to us. Into the darkness comes the light. May we sit still and wait and watch with Thomas who wanted to see the light coming, returning to this world.

Next Sunday Is NOT Christmas Eve (at least not in the morning)...

Be careful next Sunday or the Liturgical Police will get you!

Let's get one thing very clear, next Sunday (morning) is NOT Christmas Eve. You can be certain at St. John's Church in Decatur, AL we will first celebrate the Fourth Sunday of Advent. Then, the hard work of many will transform our church into a place fit for the celebration of the Nativity of Our Lord. Why is this so important? Well, I'm so happy that you asked.

The "Christmas Creep" is a real phenomenon. Many Episcopal clergy, along with clergy people of other denominations, have lamented with good reason the loss of the Season of Advent, as Christmas decorations go up so early that even Thanksgiving seems like an afterthought. You may not be worried. You may think, "What do we lose when we lose Advent?" Well, we lose looking forward with the People of Israel for the coming of the Messiah long ago. We lose looking forward to God coming to fulfill all things at the end of time. And, we lose looking around to see God coming to be enfleshed with us right here, ,right now.

While the twelve days of Christmas, which (oh by the way!) start on December 25th and run through January 6th, capture some of the same themes of Advent, much of what we celebrate during those days are the Nativity narrative of Jesus of Nazareth (shepherds, angels, magi, etc.) and not the anticipation of those events. So, you will excuse me when I want to defend all four Sundays of Advent, for if we lose even one of them we lose much of the hope, anticipation, expectation, prophecies, and simplicity of the Season of Advent. Take for example this coming Sunday morning, if we skip over it then we lose God's Annunciation to Mary. Of course, all of this looking ahead may speak to a larger problem today.

We have a patience problem in society today. I say "we" because I may be the chief culprit in lacking patience. People tell me, "Don't pray for patience, God might actually give you a chance to practice it." GOOD! It's as though we think we have the patience of Job when it's really more like we are Abraham and Sarah waiting for a son. When all we do is look ahead racing to get to the next thing--or as seems to be the case among some of my fellow Episcopal clergy letting Advent 4 slide because well, it's hard to ask people to be patient--then it appears to me we are not walking any significant journey of faith with God. For following Jesus is not always easy or simple or fun or exciting or quick or timely or enlightening or positive. In truth, the way God calls us to walk often gets messy. Just ask Mary who we will miss if we skip over next Sunday morning (Luke 1:26-38).

Mary minded her own business in Nazareth long ago. Out of nowhere a messenger of God came to say, "Greetings, favored one! The Lord is with you." Mary though, heard these words not with exceeding joy, but like we might hear a telemarketer on the other end of a phone call who says "Congratulations! You've won a free trip to the Bahamas!" Skepticism, perplexity, and wonderment filled Mary. Sensing the hesitancy Gabriel, the messenger, threw God's cards on the table: do not be afraid, God has found favor with you, and through you, God will bear the Savior of your people and the whole earth. Sound good? Mary could not at first comprehend how this would happen and asked the most practical of questions, as the Common English Bible translation bluntly puts it, “How will this happen since I haven’t had sexual relations with a man?” It's a good question. At some point later this week I intend on exploring more the Angel's response, but for now I am fascinated with Mary eventually going along with this messy plan of God coming to dwell among us as the means of our salvation.

Mary's response to the courier of God speaks volumes to what our own calling might be not only when dealing with petty church calendar issues (yeah, I know I'm ridiculous), but also with the largest challenges of our lives. Nancy Rockwell's well shared article from two years ago about the mistake of thinking of Mary simply as a supplicant, reminds us that saying, "Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word," does not come easily. In truth, Mary embodies for us the challenge of waiting--that is even hearing a difficult vocation, saying yes to it, and then carrying through with it. Mary models for us a fulfilled faith that, though full of struggles and challenges--just think of Mary standing at the foot of the Cross thirty something years later-- continually responds to God's call with yes. Though in this day and age, I wonder if we will ever even hear God's call to us to be faithful in the first place. If we are too focused on what comes next will we see and hear the magnificent messenger of God saying to us, "Greetings favored one!"? Will we have the opportunity to know that nothing is impossible with God? Will we miss the chance to bring God into the world?

The Day of the Lord

Did DirecTV steal its ad campaign from Amos?

Have you seen or heard the most recent DirecTV advertisements? They describe how their customer service has outranked various cable companies’ customer care for seventeen years, but still some people prefer cable to DirecTV. Then, the narrator lists undesirable activities that some odd people might actually like. As one spot puts it, “Some people prefer cable [to DirecTV] like some people like banging their heads on a low ceiling, drinking spoiled milk, camping in poison ivy, [licking an envelope and] getting a paper cut, [or] getting their arm trapped in a vending machine.” To me it sounds like DirecTV stole a page from the prophet Amos’ book!

Here’s how our first reading for today began:
Alas for you who desire the day of the Lord!
    Why do you want the day of the Lord?
It is darkness, not light;
    as if someone fled from a lion,
    and was met by a bear;
or went into the house and rested a hand against the wall,
  and was bitten by a snake.
Is not the day of the Lord darkness, not light,
    and gloom with no brightness in it?

“What a cheerful description of God’s coming!” said no one after reading this passage. So what gives? Why is this the way that Amos depicts the day of the Lord? Well, to understand we have to know what was going on in Israel and Judah when Amos prophesied.

Many would describe the 8th Century (BCE) as the heyday of the People of Israel. The kingdom was expanding. Other nations feared the Israelite army. Wealth and prosperity were common in this day. However, all the riches were not shared among all people. In fact, prosperity remained with only a select few, primarily those who were in seats of power in Jerusalem. Onto the scene came the prophet Amos.

Amos was a farmer and herder from a rural area of Judah. He denounced those who lived in power, while many suffered for want. Even though some people prospered during this time Amos claimed that God’s justice and righteousness were not being executed by the People of God and that the Day of the Lord was indeed coming, which gets us back to our passage for today.

After a description of how those in power who ignore the outcasts of society will experience the day of the Lord—remember bears, snakes, and gloom—Amos switches his perspective to that of God. From God’s perspective, at least according to Amos, it is not enough to have festivals or solemn occasions. God desires more than burnt offerings, fatted animals, or even songs of praise. What God yearns for is a people committed to justice and righteousness! Of course, all of this is in the past, right?

Sadly, we still struggle with only a few having power, privilege, or wealth. We live in a time of great disparity between the wealthy and the poor. We live in an age when many pay lip service to God, but do not receive God’s grace with an open heart ready to serve those who are in great need. Acknowledging the similarities between 8th Century (BCE) Israel and 21st Century (AD) U.S.A., as well as the problematic disparities in both societies we would do well to wonder how it is we are to go onward? “What now?” we ask ourselves.

Against the backdrop of today’s election here in Alabama, when we will elect someone to represent us in a Senate, I hear Amos calling us to approach the day of the Lord. We may believe that—like the powerful of ancient Israel—our representatives in Washington are more concerned with their own power than taking care of those on the margins. So what is it that we are called to do? The day of the Lord approaches as a terrifying event for those who stand on the side of the powerful, but what is it that we are called to do if we find ourselves in positions of privilege? The Shepherd from Matthew’s Gospel account helps to guide us.

The Shepherd goes out in search of the lost—whoever they may be. Even when we look around and believe that perhaps it is the 99 sheep who are lost our God will come to bring us home. When things seem most difficult or painful or problematic we are not called to fix everything, rather we are called to stand still and wait for God coming to us. Then, with Jesus, our Shepherd leading us we are charged to go in search of those who have been on the wrong end of power. We are called to go with the Shepherd to execute justice and righteousness. This means we are called to care with our Shepherd for those vulnerable ones—especially women, children, and people of color—who have been so abused by the systems of power in this world!

The day of the Lord is coming! It may appear to be a scary day, but the Shepherd comes in search of all sheep even the most lost among us. When the Shepherd comes searching may we not only be found by Him, but with him “let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream” (Amos 5:24).

Prepare God's Way To You

A church not too different from St. John’s here in Decatur had some great acolytes not too different from our own. They were attentive during worship, deliberate with their actions during processions, and happy to share in fellowship with the rest of the congregation. While most—if not all—of what they did during the service followed the rubrics of our Book of Common Prayer–those rules that help to guide worship—there was one unique custom that stood out when visitors came to church for the first time.

As the acolytes began from the western part of the church —some would say the front of the church, while others call that the back—the crucifer after about ten steps would dip the cross low. Visitors and newcomers would look puzzled as the processional cross stooped down in procession. By the time these new folks became members though, the practice had become normal to them, until one day a newcomer wondered, “What in the world is the crucifer doing?”

This new member first asked the head of the acolyte guild why the crucifer did this. The acolyte master gave a puzzled look and replied, “Well, that’s how we have always done it—at least as long as I’ve been here.” Not satisfied with the answer the new member approached several other members of the church and asked the same question and got the same reply.

Finally, the newcomer asked the rector. The rector after hearing the question got red in the face. “You know,” the priest replied, “before the most recent renovations decades ago there was a light that the crucifer had to duck the cross under during the procession. And… I haven’t had the heart to tell the acolytes that they don’t have to swoop the cross now that the light is gone.” To quote the opening number from Fiddler on the Roof, “Tradition!!! Tradition!!!” (Good luck getting that song out of your head now.)

Like many things in the Episcopal Church after we do it once it becomes a long standing tradition, but I wonder about this. I love traditions so much—I grew up at a summer camp with many of them, I chose a college with peculiar practices, and I have been nourished in a church with them. However, like the crucifers who dipped the cross under a light that was no longer there, sometimes these traditions serve no purpose but to say that this is the way we have done it in the past. How often do we wonder if a certain tradition or practice brings us closer to God? Do we reflect on whether a tradition creates health? Have we stopped to think about those things that we tell ourselves we have to do because we have always done them?

I have been struck by an analogy as of late. Do you remember that wonderful—or terrible depending on who you ask—section of the SAT designated for analogies? Well, here’s one to bring up bad or good memories: traditions : groups :: ________ : individuals. Perhaps there are multiple ways to answer this, but I am tempted to respond with the word habit. Our communal habits are traditions.

Many experts will tell you that to form a new habit you have to do something for twenty-one days in a row. Whether it’s a good habit—like exercising, eating well, writing in a journal, saying your prayers—or a bad habit—like biting your fingernails, slouching, smoking cigarettes, compulsively shopping—one only needs a few weeks of doing something to have a lasting impact on one’s life. But, if habits are to individuals as traditions are to groups, then I wonder, do we ever think that just like there are healthy and unhealthy habits for individuals there might also be healthy and unhealthy habits—or traditions—for communities?

You have probably heard it said that Jesus did not come to found a religion, instead he came to start a movement. Sometimes I forget this about Jesus, but I almost always remember it when I hear about John the Baptizer. The religion of those in Judea and Jerusalem revolved around a priestly class obsessed with tradition—religious elites whom people gave the best seats at synagogue, greetings in the marketplaces, and special garments at all times. John the Baptist’s ministry flew directly in the face of all of this: no Temple or synagogue—just a river, no meandering through a marketplace—just the wilderness, and no fancy clothes—just camel’s hair. John was not trying to start a religion. John knew his place was as the forerunner, the middle-inning reliever, the one who was setting the table for the closer. He knew that he was starting a movement of repentance, which called into question all the traditions that were the givens of the day.

After Jesus ascended the movement he started only took a couple of centuries before it had forgotten that Jesus did not come to found a religion with special seats, special privileges, and special clothes for the clergy. We do something once in church and we think that it has been a tradition since Jesus himself walked the earth, but John continues to call us into some serious soul searching. Just because we have a tradition that does not have to be the way we always do things.

In the book we are using for our Wednesday night series Praying in Color by Sybil MacBeth, the author describes many barriers to doing something new and different, like praying in a different way. She writes, “Adopting a new way of praying may require a suspension of rigid belief. Most of us have a tendency to enshrine our narrow beliefs and spiritual practices. We assume that the way we learned to pray as a child, at one of our many conversions, or during a major epiphany about life is the only way there is.” But, this is not true. In fact, when we worship tradition instead of God we are committing a form of idolatry as put a tradition or practice in the place of God. This is always dangerous, but especially when our traditions do not embolden us to care for those on the margins, the vulnerable among us, or worse yet set up opportunities to prey upon the weak.

So what do we do? Traditions, just like habits are in and of themselves neutral, neither healthy nor unhealthy, but they can just as easily be the vehicle for exclusion as they are for inclusion. So again, what do we do? There are no easy solutions in discernment—especially in thinking of those things that we love and have done for a long time. However, when listening to which traditions and habits are healthy and which ones are unhealthy, we would do well not to just see John the Baptist as the plush and funny mascot for Advent.

What John came to illuminate was not that all things religious are bad, rather he came to call us into the wilderness to wonder how might I prepare the way for God, how might I make God’s way to me direct? God calls us out into the wilderness to see not from the perspective of the powerful, but from the position of the outsider, the newcomer, and those on the fringe. This is where John announced that Jesus was coming. Jesus is coming with a baptism of fire and the Holy Spirit, will we be ready to greet him? Or, will we miss him because we are too busied by making sure we are doing what we have always done. Even as we hold onto the wonderful practices of the past may we be emboldened by John to go into the wild to prepare the way of God who is coming to us!

Bingo!

St. John’s, Decatur loves to play bingo. On parish retreat when we compete, everyone gets so engrossed in the game that often the winner or the caller are accused of foul play from all those who do not yell out, “BINGO!” In the first years I served at St. John’s, during the season of Advent (this time when we remember Christ coming into the world and look ahead to Christ coming again), we also gathered to play bingo—except this version differed from the standard variety. This was St. Nicholas Bingo!

In St. Nicholas Bingo the rules were the same, but the board on which we played was different. Each square’s picture had something to do with the life of St. Nicholas. A funny looking hat that we call a mitre indicated that in his life Nicholas of Myra was a bishop. A candy cane represented that our modern sweet treat actually connects to a bishop’s crosier, which in itself symbolizes a shepherd’s crook. There were squares with boats because Nicholas allegedly saved some sailors lost at sea. And, of course, there were bags of gold coins.

Church historians do not have an abundance of hard evidence about the life of Nicholas of Myra. They know he was a bishop. They know he lived in the 4th Century. They know he lived in modern day Turkey. They believe he took part in important councils in the Church. More than that though does not seem verifiable. Still we remember the legends that surround this man and in particular a story of Nicholas helping out a family in need.

Back when Nicholas was a bishop in Myra he learned about a man who had three daughters. The family was very poor. When the daughters were old enough to be given in marriage—the practice of the day—the father worried that he could not afford the dowry. Without the dowry—that bit of money given by the bride’s family to the groom to help the family get started—the father worried his daughters would turn to an unsavory line of work. On three consecutive nights Bishop Nicholas came strolling by the poor family’s home—and depending on who tells the story—either  threw bags of gold through a window, down the chimney, or into stockings hanging out to dry. In this way the women were saved and Nicholas’ anonymous giving sparked a movement that we continue to this day. You see, the legend of St. Nicholas and the gold coins has given to us and to the rest of the world our modern character of Santa Claus—if you say St. Nicholas quickly enough it actually sounds the same as Santa Claus.

Somehow in the telling and re-telling of this story though we lost the plot, or rather we added some extraneous and harmful details to it. Perhaps it was parents who were tired out by their children and wanted some help corralling them. Maybe it was marketers who wanted a little bit of help selling some more toys for good boys and girls. Possibly song writers came up with this characteristic of the anonymous gift-giver all on their own, but somewhere along the way someone added, “He’s making a list and checking it twice/He’s gonna find out who’s naughty or nice.” This tiny little detail shifted the story from one about anonymous giving to judgment. This tale of Nicholas and the bags of gold originally did not support this description of conditional love. In fact, at this time of year the legend of Nicholas charges us to live in an entirely different way.

Giving without others knowing who has given the gift stands out as a particularly appropriate way to remember and honor St. Nicholas. Certainly we can be part of this by taking names off of an angel tree, participating in our own shoe drive with the Boys’ and Girls’ Clubs of North Central Alabama, or countless other random acts of kindness. And yet, I think that there is even more to this.

Our challenge at this time of year may be to feel like we have to do something good, so that we do not appear to be like Ebenezer Scrooge. This though, is getting things out of order. During Advent, when we watch for God coming into our lives—past, present, and yet to come—may we come to God like the little children in our Gospel lesson for today. First and foremost, they were curious about Jesus. They came to him wondering how they might receive instruction, blessing, and mostly love. Jesus invites us into this as well. May we be curious first, yearning to learn about God, and then once we have been so transformed by God’s blessing and love, may we go out to care for others.

If we think that we have to earn our way into God’s good graces, if we think that we must be nice to get St. Nicholas’ approval, or if we think to assuage our guilt we must be nice to others we have not approached God like those little ones came to Jesus. The reign of God exists for all, but Jesus makes it clear that the ones who approach with curiosity, openness, love, creativity, innocence, gratitude, and other child-like attributes will be the ones who enter it, experience it, and get transformed by it. Although we do not know everything about Nicholas we can see through his acts of kindness that he had the creativity, gratitude, and love like that of little children. At this time of year and especially on this day may we not worry about who’s naughty or nice and instead approach Jesus like little children and when we do may we welcome others just as Jesus, Nicholas, and little children show us we can!

Spoiler Alert...

How do we proceed when we already know the outcome?

“The beginning of the good news ofJesus Christ, the Son of God.” Our contemporary society loves movies with twistendings, unexpected upsets in sports, and pop songs with at least onesurprising key change. So, what do we do with the opening line of the Gospel of Jesus Christ according to Mark? Before any action has taken place the ending has been given away—Jesus is the son of God. After one verse might we be better off simply skipping to the ending?

Spoiler alert: When Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince came out in 2005 a man drove passed a Barnes and Noble release event for the popularchildren’s book series. The moment he got in front of the line that was out the door he yelled out the ending of the book, which ruined the anticipation and enjoyment of reading a good book in the process. Do the first lines of Mark’s Gospel account do the same thing for us?

We really do not like spoilers in our country, and it’s not only with Harry Potter. There are videos of grown adults runningaway from people trying to tell them what happens in Star Wars. Apps now give people the option to hide the score of others games when watching a replay broadcast. The advent of DVRs and Netflix has made it such that people will cover their ears and yell, “LALALALA” when someone talks about a show they have not yet watched. So what do we do with Mark’s Gospel account when the first line spills the beans?

The truth is most of us hear the claim that Jesus is the Son of God before we ever read an entire Gospel account for ourselves. Perhaps if someone grew up un-churched they could happen upon the good news with fresh eyes and ears. And yet, even those who are reared outside the church will almost certainly hear from others in society that Jesus is God’s Son before they get to encounter the story of God in Holy Scripture for themselves. On the one hand this is no big deal, but on the other hand what is it that we bring to the table when we make such a big claim before ever reading a word? I wonder what it was like for those who encountered Mark’s account of the Gospel of Jesus Christ as a spoken story in the first century. I wonder if we might hear like them. I wonder if we might enjoy the journey as much as the destination.

In this season of Advent, as we begin this church year I wonder if we might ask God to have new eyes. Can we see beyond our preconceived notions about Jesus, about God, and about us? Are we able to read the good news of Jesus Christ without our regular set of assumptions, without mixing the Gospel accounts together, and without skipping over the parts that truly challenge us? Is it possible to wonder anew what it means for Jesus to be the Son of God? Or, do we already know it all, so we impatiently skip ahead to the ending?

Advent Invitation

I invite you to take an hour or so to read the Gospel according to Mark

Mark is my kind of guy. He’s brief and to the point, descriptive without being elaborate and exciting without being dramatic. Most of all his words are immediate, as in everything flows from one event to the next and the next.

Often what we overlook about the Gospel according to Mark is that it is the oldest and the shortest of all the canonical Gospel accounts. Before going too much further into this week’s sermon prep I feel the urge to accept the invitation of Forward Movement’s Advent Calendar for Monday, December 04, 2017. As seen in the picture above, the instruction for today is to sit and read Mark’s version of the life of Christ… in one sitting! Don’t worry there are only 11,304 words, which is over 4,000 words less than the next shortest Gospel account (John). Average readers can comprehend about 200 words per minute. That means you can read it all in less than an hour!

Some may not like this invitation. Most will go about their lives busied by everything else going on during this season of anticipation and preparation. I do appreciate the call to slow down, be quiet, and read one entire account of the ministry of Christ Jesus. If you do take the 56 minutes or so to dwell in the Word of God I imagine you will be changed.

Before getting confused by the Angel Gabrielle who will hop onto the scene mysteriously from Luke’s Gospel in two Sundays on Advent IV. Before hearing of the account of Jesus’ birth on Christmas Eve. Before you see the babe wrapped in swaddling cloth, the shepherds stunned, or the wise men bearing gifts I urge you to take the time to read Mark’s version of the story. The stripped-down, quick-paced, and action-packed tale will probably not put you in the Christmas mood like Luke’s story does, but instead you will be amazed at the powerful healings, the hardheaded disciples, the overturning of the powerful, the uplifting of the lowly, and the immediacy of the Son of God in the person of Jesus of Nazareth. 

The Model Shepherd: An Ordination Sermon

Corey Jones (left) the newest (for now) presbyter in the Episcopal Diocese of Alabama.

“The hired hand runs away because a hired hand does not care for the sheep. I am the good shepherd. I know my own and my own know me, just as the Father knows me and I know the Father” (John 10:13-14, New Revised Standard Version).

Apophatic Theology has been around for a long time. Whether its roots stem back to the Cistercians of the 11th Century, to the Neo-Platonists of the 3rd Century, or to the origins of philosophy itself is widely contested. Of course, you know this Corey. You graduated from the School of Theology at the University of the South. What scholars do not debate is the usefulness of this way of taking about God. See, apophatic theology stands out as the practice of speaking not in positive statements about God—like God is good—but instead saying only those things we are certain do not pertain to the perfectness of God. Our own Presiding Bishop Michael Curry has championed an apophatic slogan lately: “If it ain’t about love, it ain’t about God.”[1]

Well, Corey on this day when God’s one holy catholic and apostolic Church will ordain you as presbyter—a shepherd of the flock—it feels oddly appropriate to start in an apophatic way. Much of our friendship finds its basis in apophatic humor—finding reverence in the irreverent, the sacred in the profane—so, why not begin not with the paragon of priestly perfection, but with the inverse? Why not commence not with the Good Shepherd, but with the bad shepherd?

To this end and drawing upon the great modern day prophet David Letterman, formerly of the Late Show, here are the Top 10 Ways to be a Bad Shepherd:

10. Starting every vestry meeting with 30 minutes of silent meditation.

9. Saying to a grieving family at a funeral planning meeting, “I’m sorry, but I can’t do the funeral at that time because my fantasy football team is playing then.”

8. Teaching an Augustine of Hippo Christian Education class entitled, “My Confessions: The True Life Tales of Corey Jones Before He Met Jesus”

7. Forgetting your microphone is on when you find your way to the facility and say to yourself out loud that your church musicians should “not quit their day jobs.”

6. Instead of using the BCP, siding with a bridezilla‘s desire to write her own vows, which include a line about how her husband will spend every Monday night watching ABC’s the Bachelor with her.

5. Wearing a purple clerical shirt around your home and making your family refer to you as the bishop of Narnia.

4. Doing anything to upset the Episcopal mafia a.k.a. your altar guild. Remember: they run the Church. (Forget about it!)

3. Waking up at 3 o’clock in the morning to wage theological warfare with your parishioners using the 140 characters of Twitter.

2. Starting and ending your sermons with the catch all prayer, “Roll Tide!”

1. The number one way to become a bad shepherd is… well, hold on a minute!

As funny as some of these are, there is a sad kernel of truth that runs through each of them. Hidden in the background of the 10th Chapter of John’s Gospel account about the Good Shepherd are some words from the prophet Ezekiel. Ezekiel and Jesus were concerned not only with describing God as the Good Shepherd, but also with the apophatic practice of pointing out the bad shepherds too. As Ezekiel put it, shepherds who had “not strengthened the weak...healed the sick...bound up the injured...brought back the strayed...sought the lost, but with force and harshness [had] ruled them” (34:4). Bad shepherds—sadly enough—are not characters confined to ancient history. Painfully, we know examples that are not humorous, but heart-wrenching. We can think of church leaders who have been bad shepherds—teachers who have caused us pain, priests who have violated our trust, and pastors who have scattered the flock. We may wonder why this happens.

The Quaker thinker and author Parker Palmer, in his great little book Let Your Life Speak, borrows a line from the Sufi mystic Rumi that surgically cuts to a deep and painful truth—a truth that gets at answering this question of why. “If you are here unfaithfully with us, you’re causing terrible damage.” Palmer adds on, “If we are unfaithful to [our] true self we will extract a price from others. We will make promises we cannot keep, build houses from flimsy stuff, conjure dreams that devolve into nightmares, and other people will suffer—if we are unfaithful to our true self.”[2] This is the apophatic description of the Good Shepherd.

Here’s how we might say it along more positive: The Good Shepherd gives to others. The Good Shepherd keeps promises. The Good Shepherd builds houses that last. The Good Shepherd conjures dreams that grow. The Good Shepherd takes away suffering. The Good Shepherd is faithful. Corey, what you are called to do among this congregation, in this diocese, and in the Church is to be not the bad shepherd, not the hireling, but it’s also not up to you to be the Good Shepherd. We are getting closer to the number one way to be a bad shepherd.

Because I do not get to preach in front of this fine congregation including my fellow priests and the bishop too often I did more sermon prep than I usually do—and that is never a good thing—but I found something odd. The Greek word that we so casually throw around as good, doesn’t mean good—at least not how we commonly use it. Good has as its opposite bad. The original word here (kalos) though means model or example.[3] The model, the example shepherd. Jesus is the Good Shepherd, as in the model shepherd, the one we are to follow.

Corey, Jesus has called you to follow him in a very particular way. It’s rather like being a shepherd—not that I have actually herded any sheep myself, only cats.[4] Jesus has called you to get to know your people, to provide nourishment for them, and even to lay down your life for them, like the model shepherd does for his sheep. This last bit is scary though, especially with a family. Laying down one’s life is not something that commonly appears in a job description from a church. And while the Ordination Rites are right next to the Burial Rites in our Book of Common Prayer—a rather peculiar placement if you ask me—the type of martyrdom you are called into is a living one that requires you to choose the life of a priest and dying to self on a daily basis.

In just a moment, our Bishop will illuminate the particular tasks of this life as a priest. You are to…

·        Shape your life around the Good News of Christ Jesus

·        Love and serve those with whom you work regardless of age or wealth or race or anything else

·        Preach God’s Good News

·        Declare God’s Forgiveness to penitent sinners

·        Pronounce God’s blessing

·        Share in the Sacraments of Holy Baptism and the Mysteries of Christ’s Body and Blood

·        And that beautiful catch all: perform the other ministries entrusted to you

(Book of Common Prayer, 531).

Corey, I believe whole-heartedly that you have every gift you need to do each and every one of these things, but there’s one more bit to this whole priesthood thing that needs to be mentioned.

The number one thing that makes a good priest into a bad shepherd is thinking that you are the Good Shepherd. You aren’t the Good Shepherd. You aren’t called to be the Good Shepherd. None of us are. But, to help clarify this whole Good Shepherd thing let us consult the classic film Home Alone.

Now, you may recall that Kevin McAllister—played by the exquisite Macaulay Culkin—gets left at home alone by his family. Kevin survives pretty well for a couple of days, but soon wants nothing more than to be surrounded by his family again. So on Christmas Eve, Kevin finds a mall Santa who is smoking a cigarette with his fake beard halfway off his face, and he says, “I know you’re not the real Santa…but I also know you work for him.” Likewise Corey, you aren’t the Good Shepherd, but we know that you work for the guy. And good news, so does everyone else here.

Lionel Mitchell—the Liturgical Theologian not to be confused with Lionel Messi the soccer Phenom—makes clear that this occasion is not the coronation of a new presbyter in the Church, instead this Ordination is the celebration of our ministry together as the Body of Christ.[5] Our Prayer Book states, “[ordination] is a gift from God for the nurture of [God’s] people and the proclamation of [Good News] everywhere.” (BCP 510). Not only do we witness a person making some huge promises and the bishop and some priests laying their hands on him or her, but we also experience this action of the Body of Christ, so that the good news of God’s love may be shared with the world—a world that desperately needs good news right now! Your family, your sending congregation, the commission on ministry, the Standing Committee, the Bishop, your seminary, and the entire Church share in this moment. All orders of ministry—the priesthood of all believers and deacons and priests and a bishop—rejoice and point to the ministry of a new shepherd AND the ministry of the Good Shepherd, our model shepherd.

Corey, you will never do ministry in a vacuum—that is Worth’s job because he’s in Hoover. Sorry. I couldn’t help it. I actually have a whole lot of vacuum jokes, but the rest of them suck. Okay, I needed to make sure y'all were still with me, but I digress. None of us actually do ministry in a vacuum.

We are all part of the ministry of the Good Shepherd, which means all of us are called to follow the example of the model shepherd Jesus. All of us are called to strengthen the weak, heal the sick, bind up the injured, bring back the strayed, and seek the lost. All of us are called to give to others, keep promises we make, build houses that last, conjure dreams that grow, take away suffering, and remain faithful. All of us are called to follow our model shepherd.

Beloveds, this means that though we be people with unclean lips we say to God, “here am I, send me!” This means that we seek whatever is true, honorable, just, pure, pleasing, commendable, excellent, and worthy of praise. This means that we protect the vulnerable lambs, feed the hungry sheep, and go in search of any lost member of the flock. In a world that is so filled with bad news Jesus calls us to participate in this Good News with every one that we meet.

Of course, sometimes advanced theology doesn’t make sense to me, so maybe a final analogy will be helpful. Corey, we’ve worked in camp settings together on occasion. I think you know the game “Sharks and Minnows.” A single shark starts as the person who is “it,” but once a minnow is tagged she turns into a shark that tries to tag the rest of the minnows. Well, for the purposes of today let’s change it to Shepherds and Sheep. All of us wander like lost sheep without the Good Shepherd, but once the love of the Good Shepherd hits us we are called not to hoard it away—no we are called to share it by going in search with the Good Shepherd for other sheep who will become shepherds too. Corey, you have been so loved by God. Now, you are called to share that love with all whom you meet through the specific ministries of being a shepherd in God’s Church. 

Corey, will you please stand? I charge you to remember that you are not the Good Shepherd, but that you work for the guy. I charge you to trust that God loves you, has called you, and has given you every gift you need to succeed. And, I charge you not to hide this love or your talents away, but to share them through the ministry that we all share with the Model Shepherd.

Now, as this thing is not just about you, will all followers of Jesus please stand? I charge all of you to remember that you are not the Good Shepherd either, but that you too are called to take part in God’s ministry. I charge you all to support this newest presbyter in God’s Church. And, I charge you to receive God’s love and then to share it with all whom you meet. For if it ain’t about love, it ain’t about God.

Amen.

---

[1] Sidebotham, Jay. Renewal Works. November 21, 2016. http://renewalworks.org/2016/11/monday-matters-november-21-2016/ (accessed November 30, 2017).

[2] Palmer, Parker J. Let Your Life Speak. San Francisco: Jossey-Bass, 2000, 31.

[3]Henrich, Sarah S. "John 10:11-18: Exegetical Perspective." In Feasting on the Word, by David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, 449-453. Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008.

[4] See: Cranmer Meme: “I retained the title of priest for ordained Anglican ministers because cat herder though more appropriate didn’t seem to have sufficient dignity.”

[5]Mitchell, Lionel L. Praying Shapes Believing. New York: Morehouse Publishing, 1985, 252-53.

Are You Saved? How About are You Being Converted?

Where are you going? Are you saved? Maybe these aren't the right questions...

Today's readings:

• Acts 17:22–31

• Matthew 25:31–40

• Psalm 97:1–2,7–12

If you grew up in the South you probably are familiar with the following question, “Are you saved?” I believe this to be something worth discussing in all parts of the Christian Church; however, some branches are more obsessed with the response than others. As a staunch Episcopalian in my youth, I wanted to rebel against such questions thinking them beneath me; however, one youth group leader helped my Episcopal Youth Community (EYC) to practice our responses to this query. The fervor with which this EYC mentor urged us has stuck with me, but even more than his spirit a follow-up demand he made on our community still hounds me to this day.

Before getting to his question though let me reframe the original ask a little bit. Quite often what catches our part of the Jesus Movement off guard is this underlying belief that there is an all-or-nothing decision that we make that will give us entry into either heaven or hell. The beliefs that lie behind “Are you saved?” seem to fly in the face of what we believe about God’s eternal love, reconciliation, and grace. Namely, we believe that God loving us eternally is not up to us, but up to God who is always faithful, loving, and true. So, when the typical Episcopalian is asked “Are you saved?” we will quite often respond with a quizzical look because this inquiry simply does not compute.

The closest analogy—which is a poor one that easily breaks down—is asking a child who is loved unconditionally by her parents if she has chosen to be loved. She is already loved, whether she wants to dwell in that love is of course up to her, but the parents love comes whether she chooses it or not. So, back to the original question and the youth ministry who challenged it.

What lay behind his conversation with us was not a denial of the question itself, but a challenge to it. The question “Are you saved?” implies a one-time transaction, like a knee-replacement or a single deposit into a checking account. What we were encouraged to do was not to seek a solitary moment of acceptance, but rather to allow God to continuously transform us. The request for him was not “Are you saved?” but instead, “Are you undergoing conversion?”—not a knee-replacement, but a daily dose of medicine; not a single deposit, but a regular contribution. Fortunately enough for us we have the example of saintly ones whom we remember today and this passage from Acts 17 to call us into lives that are not a shooting star, but the constant lapping of the ocean.

King Kamehameha and Queen Emma were not your typical royalty. When they took over as the ruling people of Hawaii in the middle of the 19^th Century their subjects were accustomed to royals who lived at a distance and focused mostly on the pomp and pageantry of the position. Instead Kamehameha and Emma ruled alongside their people—even those who had been recently afflicted by a severe small pox outbreak. This experience of seeing the suffering served as a catalyst and the beginning of a conversion in them. To respond to those in pain the king and queen went door-to-door to both rich and poor as they sought funds to build a hospital.

In the midst of meeting their people King Kamehameha and Queen Emma saw the unsatisfactory work of Christian missionaries from the United States. As a response, the royal couple petitioned the Bishop of Oxford to send Church of England representatives to come to Hawaii to teach lives of conversion. As a prince, Kamehameha had been strongly impressed by time spent in England. The king’s fascination though was not a flash in the pan, as he spent the years after a missionary bishop and priests were sent to the islands transcribing the Prayer Book and Hymnal into his native language. When the couple’s lone son died Kamehameha seemingly died of grief a year later. Following this the queen declined to rule, but instead spent her life tending to the sick, taking care of school, and raising funds for a cathedral. She even became a favorite guest of Queen Victoria. The Cathedral completed after both their deaths was a testimony of lives that were not lived in fear of answering an all-or-nothing question, but in love from the conversion that was happening because of God’s presence in their lives.

Today’s First Lesson from Acts 17 calls to mind similarly a question of conversion. When Paul challenged the Athenians, who were accustomed to worshipping many gods, to see and know the one true God it did not only matter whether those listening accepted this teaching in the moment. Rather, what mattered was whether a true conversion began in their lives. Over the course of time did the Gentile listeners yearn to know more of God in whom they lived and moved and had their being? Did they discover that they were part of God’s offspring? Would that learn that God loved them infinitely? Or, were they scared into making a one-time decision?

A one-time transaction with God does not speak of the abundant transformation that life with Christ offers. Daily we are invited to offer up our lives to be transformed by God’s love. We do that here in this service when we offer up our gifts literally and symbolically on the altar. God in this moment alters our lives as they become more fully a part of God’s life. When we receive the gifts of God as the people of God we are indeed undergoing conversion. God hands us back our lives only they have been transformed. May we continually undergo transformation by God as we seek not a single moment of salvation, but a life changed by Christ’s redeeming love.

The Forgotten Art of Giving Thanks

Have we forgotten how to give thanks?

This sermon is inspired by the readings for the Feast of Thanksgiving:

Deuteronomy 8:7-18Psalm 652 Corinthians 9:6-15Luke 17:11-19 (Particularly this one)

Recently I had some time to kill in a city with which I was not familiar. So, I walked down the main street of this old town, and I marveled at all the cute boutiques, specialty eateries, and upscale gift shops. To escape the brisk, fall day I ventured into a couple of stores. When I did I found myself rather disoriented and confused.

In every shop I entered, nearly everywhere I looked what I found was gifts, decorations, and cards celebrating the upcoming Christmas and Hanukah seasons. The tables overflowed with presents and featured signs above them like, “the perfect gift for her,” “that special gift for him,” “a gift to make their season bright.” There were ornaments for Christmas trees, decorations for the Festival of Lights, and row upon row of holiday notes. For a moment I had to stop and look down at the date on my phone to make sure I had not fallen asleep for a month and missed most of November. As I looked back up I saw one small table with a tiny placard on it distinguishing it from the rest. The sign read: “Thanksgiving clearance.” My heart sank.

We have found a way in our culture to all but overlook the celebration of Thanksgiving. Even earlier this week I heard radio hosts apologizing that their station had not started playing Christmas music yet. If you ventured into a local drugstore before the last day of October you might have been surprised that Halloween candy was already replaced with Christmas goodies. Our local shops had their Christmas open house in the second week of November. I wonder, “Have we forgotten the art, the practice of giving thanks?”

Somewhere lost in the shuffle at this time of year when we are captivated by football, politics, and buying the perfect gift is a day that we set aside to initially stop and give thanks. While the roots of agricultural festivals date back to antiquity, we trace our feast of Thanksgiving back to European colonists in Massachusetts and Virginia who thanks to Native Americans made it through their first harvest. Now with the bounty with which we have become so accustomed, we may even forget that tomorrow is about more than food, family, and football. Like the nine lepers who did not turn around to thank Jesus, we have become people who keep going on our merry way. Again, I wonder, “Have we forgotten the art, the practice of giving thanks?”

The one leper who initially stopped, turned around, praised God, prostrated himself at Jesus’ feet, and thanked him teaches us something about how we might recover the spiritual exercise of giving thanks—not just on the fourth Thursday of November, but every day. Let us look at the example laid out by this leper from long ago.

First off, we have to stop. We have to stop and not just tomorrow. Every Sunday here at church we participate in something profound. I’ll get to the deeper meaning of this service that we call the Eucharist in a moment, but for now think about the simple truth that when we are at church we stop doing what we would otherwise be doing. Sure, we can do this at other times in our lives. There’s a great gratitude campaign that some in our parish have been taking part in on Facebook. Even stopping to take a moment to thank God—especially first thing in the morning—has a profound impact on how we see the world. The lonely leper though did more than simply stop.

The second aspect that this Samaritan leper teaches us is turning around. We may recall that the fancy church term for turning around is repentance. When we repent, we figuratively—and often literally—turn our lives in a different direction. Namely, we shift our lives to focus upon following Jesus. In a few moments we will confess our sins and ask God to help us to transform our lives so that we might delight in God’s will and walk in his ways. Part of the leper’s thankfulness was in recognizing that he was lost and going in the wrong direction without the love of God, may we remember this as well.

Another helpful practice of giving thanks that this leper teaches us comes in how he praised God with a loud voice. I suspect most of us do not like to raise our voices—unless perhaps our team is losing. What happens though when we free ourselves from the elements of decorum? What happens when we truly experience profound healing or transformation from God? Don’t we want to shout and praise God? I can recall a time when after going to a priest to confess my sins in the rite of Reconciliation I was so happy I wanted to do cartwheels and so I did! If we are truly thankful we will feel the freedom to praise God without a care in the world—even with a loud voice.

The Samaritan’s act of laying himself at Jesus’ feet and thanking him stands out as the coup de grace, the pièce de résistance, the capstone in the overlooked art of giving thanks. Our entire liturgy that we are participating in right now focuses upon taking the time to figuratively and literally kneel before God to say thank you. Yes, we can do this daily in our lives in many other ways, but something even more powerful happens when we come together to celebrate the Eucharist. We call this very service the Great Thanksgiving. We celebrate together as we give our humble thanks to God. A simple summation of how this gratitude manifests may be found in the following words:

Celebrant: Let us bless the Lord.

People: Thanks be to God.

The very way that we bless God is chiefly with our thanksgiving. Of course, giving thanks takes under its wings all sorts of other giving—giving time, talent, treasure, energy, intellect, humor, and our entire lives. This service that we participate in is a sacrifice of praise and thanksgiving. We give over every bit of ourselves through gratitude and Christ Jesus in this feast returns to us our lives, only transformed by love.

As we focus tomorrow on the Feast of Thanksgiving may we allow the example of this lowly leper to challenge us to be grateful to God every day. May we stop, repent, praise God, and kneel before Jesus, as we offer our blessing of praise and thanksgiving. In recovering this lost art of giving thanks God will transform our lives!