Love Your Enemy

As we reflect on the importance of Independence Day, how will we hear Jesus' invitation to love not only our neighbors, but our enemies as well. 

There’s a parable that the Jesuit priest Anthony De Mello tells in his book The Song of the Bird. The story entitled Jesus At The Football Match goes as follows:

Jesus Christ said he had never been to a football match. So we took him to one, my friends and I. It was a ferocious battle between the Protestant Punchers and the Catholic Crusaders.

The Crusaders scored first. Jesus cheered wildly and threw his hat high up in the air. Then the Punchers scored. And Jesus cheered wildly and threw his hat high up in the air.

This seemed to puzzle the man behind us. He tapped Jesus on the shoulder and asked, “Which side are you rooting for, my good man?”

“Me?” replied Jesus, visibly excited by the game. “Oh, I’m not rooting for either side. I’m just enjoying the game.”

The questioner turned to his neighbor and sneered, “Hmm, an atheist!”

We took him up on this after the game. Was he in the habit of never taking sides? “I side with people rather than religious,” said Jesus, “human beings rather than Sabbath.”[1]

Here in the United States we grow up being taught of our exceptionalism. We learn of concepts like Manifest Destiny. Our media reinforces that we are the greatest of all nations. Our sense of greatness almost feels like it is in the air we breath. This story from Fr. Anthony De Mello, as silly as we may think it is, points in a different direction. That direction is the same direction we hear Jesus leading us in our Gospel reading for Independence Day.

“Love your neighbor,” is the second greatest of all the commandments according to Jesus of Nazareth. Following it is hard enough. We have a difficult enough time in our country loving our neighbor who has a different opinion, background, faith, custom, or story than our own. We hear Jesus saying these words—almost every Sunday at the 8 o’clock service—and perhaps quietly we nod our head. But, to live out this truth, to actually love our neighbor is really hard.

To do this we have to see that neighbor from beyond our limited perspective. We have to find common ground: we live on the same street, reside in the same town, share a mutual friend, or have a common interest. To put it in the language of De Mello’s parable, we root for the same team, the same side. And, while this is difficult to find common ground, it is not impossible. However, Jesus did not stop speaking after he said “Love your neighbor,” no this was just the introduction.

Jesus said, “You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be children of your Father in heaven.” What stands out here is not that we are called to love our enemies. Yes that is striking! However, what stops me in my tracks is that loving our enemies is how we become children of God. The way we are these children is by being like our Father/Mother in heaven. And, to do this, we cannot just cheer for our team.

To be like God, to be like Jesus, to be filled with the Spirit we are called to see even our enemies through the eyes of Our Loving God. I am not saying this is easy. It’s almost certainly impossible. In truth, it definitely is impossible on our own. But, with God, through God all things are possible. Yes, even loving our enemies.

To love our enemies though we must be able to cheer for both sides. To love our enemies we must see things not just from the perspective of what is best for us, but also what is for the good of the world, the universe, and the cosmos. To love our enemies we must be willing to cross over boundaries and love people like Jesus. And, the way he loved was and is without limit. But, there’s one more thing.

God’s call to us is not that we must love of our enemies to be his children. Rather, when Jesus said what we read today, he was describing who God’s children are. It’s a matter of fact, a matter of truth. God’s children love their enemies. That is the truth of being a child of God. We receive the transforming love of God, then we cannot help but let it overflow not just to our family, friends, and neighbors, but even to, maybe even especially to those who would persecute or hate us.

As we celebrate Independence Day, may we recall that we are a vast nation of neighbors who are called to love and to respect each other, despite our differences. And, Jesus bids us even further. As we live as children of God, we are called to love even those who despise us or our country. Let us love each other, love those close to us, and love our enemies!

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[1] Anthony De Mello. “Jesus At The Football Match.” The Song of the Bird. (New York: Image Books Doubleday Press, 1982). 147-148.

Divine --> Human

Nothing is impossible with God, so what will be possible for God through us?

There have been moments in my life that remain beyond my comprehension. Some of them I remember and others have been told to me over the years. All of them mystify me.

When I was four years-old I had a conversation with Jesus in the backseat of my family’s van. I cannot believe that happened. When I was twenty-three years-old and in Quito, Ecuador a charismatic preacher gave me a blessing that knocked me over. I did not think something like that was possible. When I was twenty-four years-old I and in the middle of the Easter Vigil I experienced a visceral call to serve in God’s Church. I still am trying to grasp that instant.

Each of these experiences of the Divine do not make rational sense to me. While they were all very human in nature, it is hard for this human to comprehend that these things actually happened. In much the same way I wonder about Mary’s visit from the angel Gabriel.

Today we celebrate the Feast of the Annunciation. The Church usually observes this festive moment on March Twenty-Fifth—nine months before Christmas Day. However, this year that date fell in the middle of Holy Week and so it has been transferred to the first available day when we have regular worship here at St. John’s. This is the day when we recall the preposterous story of God choosing Mary to bear God’s Son into the world—a little splash of the Nativity right here in the midst of Easter!

While the Annunciation may stand out to some as an unusual story, God does enter into the lives of humans. I do not think I am unique in my experiences of the Divine. Truthfully, I believe God knocks on the door of all of our hearts on a daily basis. Do we pay attention to how God enters into our lives?

Mary was paying attention. When Gabriel came to her saying, “Greetings, favored one! The Lord is with you.” She was perplexed and pondered what was happening, but she at least saw God’s messenger in her midst. How often do I miss God’s messengers now?

As the conversation continued, we as listeners get an inner glimpse into the heart of Mary. While she was favored, her heart was afraid. God’s messenger tried to calm Mary. Gabriel told her who this child would be—the Son of the Most High God whose kingdom will have no end. Mary’s response reveals her lovely human concern.

Mary did not get glimpses of grandeur as Gabriel spoke. Instead she had a practical concern. She wondered, “How can this be, since I am a virgin?” Mary here modeled for us being open to God, but also remaining who we are. She did not think too highly of herself. Instead she aimed to humbly serve God, even if things did not make sense.

Gabriel responded by expressing how God would make unbelievable thing a reality. The messenger told how the Holy Spirit would be with her, how her barren cousin Elizabeth was with child, and how nothing is impossible with God. God provided a means, proof of God’s power, and why that was the case through Gabriel’s words. Even then though, I imagine that Mary had a million questions. Instead of getting stuck on them though, she responded by saying, “Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.”

Mary’s example for us stands out as magnificent. She showed us that when God breaks into our lives we may not fully comprehend it. However, we can say yes to it. Still, Mary’s model gives us something more.

Sometimes I find a certain aspect about the life of Christ Jesus difficult to comprehend. The Church teaches that Christ Jesus was completely divine and completely human. Like other mysteries of our Faith this makes my head hurt. Mary’s life though helps me to form a sort of bridge that begins to give me deeper understanding.

Mary was a mere mortal. She was fully human, we might say. And yet, she had encounters with angels. She bore the completely human, completely divine Christ Jesus within her. She was the God-bearer, or as the Orthodox say, “the Theotokos.” Even though she was a lowly human, the God of the whole universe came to dwell within her. If this is possible—for nothing is impossible with God—then of course a fully human, fully divine Christ Jesus seems possible.

While this still may be hard for us to get our minds around, Mary helps us to know that God yearns to be in our lives. The fully human, fully divine Jesus was born through the fully human Mary. What might God bear through us regular, old humans? Nothing is impossible with God, so what will be possible for God through us?

Wait for the Lord

The Song of Simeon from Evening Prayer in the Book of Common Prayer

Maundy Thursday is still 57 days away—can you tell our staff had an all-day, 18-month calendar planning meeting today? Why bring up Maundy Thursday? Well, because that day during Holy Week when we remember Jesus’ commandment to love and his last supper with beloved friends taught me much about waiting.

Generally, I am terrible at waiting. Standstill traffic unleashes a beast within me. Some people believe I naturally took to Centering Prayer, but partially I practice it because it challenges my desire to go, do, and accomplish that often removes me from moments where relationships are formed. I am much more Martha than I am Mary, do-er rather than be-er. The Maundy Thursday service at St. Andrew’s, Birmingham where I grew up taught me how to wait though.

At the end of the Maundy Thursday service the lights are dimmed, all signs of the cross are covered, the altar is stripped, and the church is left bare. Once all of this ritual takes place at St. Andrew’s the congregation keeps watch. The entire night parishioners pray in the side chapel as they join Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane. My family would take an early watch, then go out for pizza afterward. Inadvertently or perhaps intentionally, my mom was incentivizing waiting. I learned to like waiting and watching, even if I got easily distracted.

When I went off to college Sewanee had a Gethsemane watch as well. Wanting to be a “cool” college kid I would take one of the late night/early morning spots each year. Waiting and watching does not come easily to me, nor does staying up to ridiculous hours. This practice gave me a tiny glimpse though into the life of Simeon who we read about in today’s Gospel lesson.

We are celebrating the Feast of the Presentation of Our Lord this evening. This moment when Mary and Joseph brought Jesus to the Temple to be purified as was in the Law of Moses. They offered the sacrifice. Then, they handed Jesus over to a man who had spent his entire life waiting. Simeon waited for the consolation of Israel. Simeon waited for the coming of the Messiah. Simeon waited for Jesus. I have a difficult time imagining the patience that Simeon possessed. He waited his whole life for this one tiny, shining moment! Perhaps even more remarkable was that he knew it when it happened.

Simeon understood, as this child rest in his arms that this was the moment he had been waiting for his entire life. On top of his great patience was his ability to recognize. He was aware enough to see that though this was a child he was the Messiah. All of this patient observance wrapped into one person definitely deserves celebrating. Maybe this is why we say or sing the Song of Simeon in Evening Prayer and Compline. His words serve as a reminder that we are all called to wait and watch for the Lord, and just maybe we have caught a glimpse of Christ in our midst this day.

The youth in the Diocese of Alabama have a particularly beautiful setting of the following words:

Lord, you now have set your servant free *
   to go in peace as you have promised;

For these eyes of mine have seen the Savior, *
   whom you have prepared for all the world to see:

A Light to enlighten the nations, *
   and the glory of your people Israel.

Glory to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit: *
   as it was in the beginning, is now, and will be for ever. Amen.

(Book of Common Prayer, 135).

When I sing these words and think about what Simeon did, I find myself marveling at the opportunity that lay ahead of all of us—right here in the present moment. Each of us is called to be like Simeon. Even if we are bad at waiting, even if we have to bribe ourselves with pizza to learn how to wait better, even if we think it will kill us we are called to wait and watch for Christ coming to us.

Simeon shows us that a lifetime of servanthood waiting and watching is worth it. As we wait may God give us freedom, peace, eyes to see a Savior who will enlighten the whole earth! Let us wait for the Lord and may we see God coming to us.

On the Edge

What a joy to welcome John Theodore Olson as a new member in Christ's Body!

The Readings which inspired this sermon were:

• Genesis 1:1-5
• Acts 19:1-7
• Mark 1:4-11
• Psalm 29

If one does not proceed with caution during this time of year, one might develop a severe case of John the Baptist fatigue. Since the start of December we have heard almost every Sunday morning about this unique forerunner to Jesus. What he wore and what he ate stick in our minds like an article from People magazine detailing a celebrity party. The baptizer donned a custom camel’s hair suit fitted with a vintage leather belt. He noshed on a minimalist paleo diet of free range locusts and organic wild honey.  When we hear the story so often we tune out what is going on and just as importantly we tune out where it is happening.

John the Baptizer appeared in the wilderness. The specific location of that wilderness matters immensely. John baptized those from town and country at the River Jordan. Now, this seemingly mundane detail about the location of John’s baptizing could appear too common to be noteworthy, but in Mark—the briefest of the Gospel accounts—nothing is superfluous data.

Meaning overflows from the Jordan. In particular, this was the border between the barren wilderness and the rich land of milk and honey, promised of old to God’s People. As we remember this story today, we stand on the edge of these same waters, the edge of this border, and the edge between what was promised and what will be fulfilled. We do not stand alone—no, we are here with John and Jesus and all those who came and still come in search of something that cannot be found in the established religion of the day. That is why so many went out to John, isn’t it? To search for something new and fresh and real. What is it precisely though that we are doing here at the edge of these baptismal waters?

We who may love our church and our traditions, what are we doing? The lessons from today lead us toward an answer. Genesis describes the Spirit’s moving over the waters ever since the beginning of Creation. Our Psalm for today celebrates God’s voice upon the waters. The portion we heard from the Acts of the Apostles depicts some followers of John receiving the Spirit in the waters of baptism when Paul ministered in Ephesus. In each of these we find something earthly linked with something that lies beyond the worldly—the sacred mingling with the secular, the divine in the everyday. Of course, the Gospel lesson from Mark most fully exemplifies this: “And just as he was coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit descending like a dove on him.” Is this why we’re here? To catch a glimpse of God through a thin place? What was really happening with Jesus in that river?

For a long time the Church has argued about whether Jesus “needed” to be baptized by John. Mark’s telling of the story runs somewhat at odds with the others. Matthew tells it as though John would not baptize the one coming after him. Luke does the same. The Fourth Gospel account (the Evangelist John) supposes that Jesus’ baptism happened, but does not describe the event. Here in Mark’s narrative though things appear simpler. After John proclaims his message as the forerunner of the Messiah, Jesus appears to be baptized. Did he need it? Was he with sin before? Was he trying to fit in with the rest of humanity? As frustrating as it is, the text remains silent on these issues. More importantly though, we find something transformative happening as we watch from the edge of the River Jordan.

When Jesus emerged from the murky river a voice declared from heaven, “You are my Son, the beloved; with you I am well pleased.” The holy cut into a simple ritual out on the edge between the civilized and the uncivilized, between what was promised and what will be fulfilled, between what had been and what was to come. God entered into the lives of human beings as they grasped at a new way of approaching their lives. For regardless of what we make of Jesus’ decision to be baptized, the others out in the wilderness around the Jordan were searching for an amendment of life. The message John preached that attracted so many focused upon turning back to God—repenting or refocusing upon the Holy One. This too brings us to the holy waters over which the Spirit still moves.

This morning, John Theodore Olson will be baptized—yes, we related. For many of us raised in the South, this moment collapses upon only one faucet, the aforementioned forgiveness of sins. While I am partial to my son Teddy, I know that he will not be immune to iniquity. He is after all a preacher’s kid—and all of us at some point go astray. But, if one merely believes that baptism is about eternal fire insurance—that is not going to hell—then one has sorely missed what is at the heart of these lessons and what is at heart of God’s love for us.

When Teddy, or anyone else, undergoes the holy gift, the holy sacrament that is Holy Baptism the baptized are forgiven their sins, but something else happens too. When through Christ we celebrate baptism we hear God’s voice adopting the baptized as a beloved child. Yes, there is a turning that presupposes the voice; however, God does not utter from heaven, “Your sins are forgiven.” No, God says, “This is my beloved, in you I am well pleased.” The lesson from the Acts of the Apostles illuminates this truth in a specific manner.

Those in Ephesus got the baptism of repentance from John the Baptizer, but somehow they missed the crucial second step in the process. They had not been baptized with the Holy Spirit. They were ones who had been baptized by the water, but they had avoided somehow the Spirit and the spiritual fire that accompany baptism through Christ. In other words, they had only been focusing on the forgiveness of sins, but they did not hear their rightful calling through Christ. They had not heard the words that God speaks to all of God’s Children, “You are my beloved, with you I am well pleased.”

Some of us too might have missed the Holy Spirit. Like those in Ephesus we might have solely aimed at amending our lives that we did not get the full power of baptism. The gift of initiating and engrafting a new member into the Body of Christ shines both in the freedom that comes with forgiveness and also in the transforming fire from the Spirit. The Holy Spirit gifted those disciples in Ephesus long ago with the abilities of tongues and prophesy—Teddy already has the gift of tongues, as his morning babbling has exemplified. What gifts will the Holy Spirit impart on Teddy in this moment? How will Christ’s Spirit transform us as we welcome this new member? In what ways does the Spirit gift us?

For us to focus only on the forgiveness of sins in this moment of Holy Baptism is to miss half of the Spirit’s powerful gifting. In Baptism the Holy Spirit brings profound, marvelous, world-transforming abilities—how will we receive them? How will you be transformed as you hear God saying to you, “You are my beloved, with you I am well pleased.”?

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.

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!

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! 

Who’s Your Last Resort?

St. Jude is known as the saint of lost causes, but who do you turn to when your back is against the wall?

Who do you turn to? In a moment of desperation or despair who is it that you trust? Do you have a go-to friend? For many of us it is probably our spouse that we call upon. Perhaps we will contact a parent or a best friend that knows us better than anyone else. What happens though when all of your trusted go-to friends or family members are unable to fix your problem? Who do you turn to when it is your last resort?

Today is the Feast Day of Saints Simon and Jude. Allegedly these two Apostles traveled with the Good News of Jesus all the way to Persia. In the process of taking the Gospel to the ends of the earth they were martyred, or at least that’s what legend holds. There exists little evidence of this, but who would have been around to record what happened to them if they were killed on a missionary journey in a foreign land? I wonder who they turned to as their last resort? Before continuing to wonder about that it might be nice to know a little bit about these two, but sadly the Church does not know much of their lives.

Simon does not appear often in the New Testament. He was called the Zealot and some wonder if that meant he was actually a part of the Jewish movement by that name or if he was just animated. Jude appeared more often than Simon. He was even present at the Last Supper. And, though not all that popular himself he has a connection to my question from earlier: Who do you turn to when it is your last resort?

Jude often gets called the patron saint of lost causes or the saint of last resort. Why? Well, we in the Church are not completely sure, but many believe this has to do with his name being so similar to Judas Iscariot’s name—the man who betrayed Jesus into the hands of people who had him killed. Because of the similarity in names we have changed Jude’s name in English to what we currently call him from what he would have actually been called back then… Judas. If you think it’s no big deal and that we ought not to have made this shift, just think of all the Judases you know. This makes a little more sense in thinking why Judas/Jude would be considered the saint of last resort. Let’s think about this a little more deeply though.

Some people are staunchly opposed to praying to a particular saint. They find that to be dangerous in a number of ways. For one, it feels like trying to call in a favor to a particular friend you are connected to at town hall or the state capitol. Also, it may cause one to wonder are we praying to a saint instead of to God? However, James Kiefer asks a cutting question as he wrote about the saints whom we celebrate today: is asking a saint to help you out much different than asking a friend to pray for you in a time of need?[1] In the end it all depends on your intention.

The question falls back upon two things for me. First, are we following the commandment that we heard Jesus give in today’s Gospel lesson? Are we loving one another? Are we asking a friend or a saint for help for the sake of self-giving love or is it for our own benefit? A prayer who says, "Saint Jude be present with those who are at their wits end by calling me into the loving service of Christ" is quite a different than someone who says, "Saint Jude this is my last $5 help me hit the lotto!" Second, what do we really think is happening here?

What is prayer in the first place? God knows our desires before we state them. As Christians we believe that Jesus is that direct mediator and advocate of the Father, but does that mean we do not seek out the inspiration or help of those who walk alongside us in this journey of Faith past, present, and yet to come? Do we not want to dwell in unity with all those beings who live together in the love of God? I believe we need all the help we can muster so to live into the love God gives us and to share it with all whom we meet. So to pray that saints show us the path to Jesus who unites us with the Father makes way more sense than merely praying to a saint that we like because they have an inside track and we don't.

In conclusion, political connections do not exist in the life of God. Praying to a saint, instead of to God distances ourselves from the intimate, transcendent One. We can though catch the gleam of Christ’s light reflecting off the lives of the many saints throughout the years. Our hope is to share that light with everyone. Our hope is to even reflect that light off of our own lives and into the lives of others. Of course, we need others to help us on the way to the eternal nearness of God. So whoever it is that you turn to as your last resort, may your first, next, and only resort truly lead you to Jesus who is the source of the light that shines in the lives of saints like Simon and Jude.

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[1] Kiefer, James. "Simon and Jude." Mission of Saint Clare. October 25, 2017. http://www.satucket.com/lectionary/Simon&Jude.htm (accessed October 25, 2017).

The Rhythm of Prayer

Like most people I have a problem with sitting in traffic. Perhaps this is one of the grandest understatements that has ever come forth from my mouth. I hate traffic. My sister told me yesterday she drove several hours out of the way to avoid some major wreaks on the way home from the beach. I told her I would have done the exact same thing. As I reflected on that I discovered something I did not know about myself. I do not like sitting in gridlock because in that time I feel unproductive.

Each and every one of us has a different obsession and mine very well may be productivity. While I noticed the quirk occasionally, it took a friend and fellow priest—during the sermon at Kim’s and my wedding no less—saying that I practice “the strange act of over-functioning” for me to realize that sometimes my deep desire to contribute may actually have a negative side to it. In this way all gifts stand out as double-edged swords. Being productive may be wonderful sometimes, but if it prevents one from ever resting or sitting in traffic without panic, then is it not also a curse? There is more to life than checking everything off our to-do lists or bucket lists or honey do lists.

The rhythms of our lives change constantly. One week may be filled with visitors coming into town, big projects at work, planning for a trip, and a million other things. The next week may show a calendar that has only a couple of events scarcely populating it. If we are not careful we will allow the rhythm of our lives dictate how we relate to one another, to our own souls, and to God. Strangely enough when we put our relationship with God first the other aspects of life fall into place more simply—not necessarily perfectly or without work, but more simply nonetheless. This is why you may often hear clergy people talking about a rule of life.

A rule of life is a set of guidelines that help one to order one’s life such that she or he can most fittingly experience the profound grace within relationships with self, others, and God. Today in the life of the Church we celebrate Saint Benedict of Nursia whose ministry as a monastic, abbot, and leader pointed to living out a rule of life that puts God first. Taking a look at his way of living provides a richer way of living not into worldly productivity, but into a spiritual fullness.

The order of Saint Benedict has a very particular way that they go about their communal life that still exists to this day. For a Benedictine monastic four hours of the day are spent in liturgical prayer (i.e. the Daily Office or Holy Communion) including the recitation of the entire Psalter every week; five hours of the day are spent in spiritual study and reading; six hours are spent doing labor of some kind; one hour is reserved for eating; and eight hours are spent sleeping.[1] This way of ordering one’s life gives a very particular rhythm that completely focuses upon God—no wonder the Benedictine Order has been so widely practiced since the 6^th Century! While this method works well for some what about those of us who cannot—at least not at the moment—dedicate 24 hours a day to a monastic lifestyle predicated on vows of “obedience, stability, and conversion of life”?[2]

Something our rector, Evan Garner, likes to say is that whether we know it or not we all have a rule of life—we just may not be aware of how we are ordering things. A very telling practice is keeping a journal of our activities. Where are we spending our time and energy? Another telling practice can be looking at a bank statement. Where am I putting my treasure? We may believe that our focus ought to be on cramming as much into every moment of the day as possible; however, often what I find so freeing about putting God and spiritual practices first is that everything else then falls into place.

We already have rules of life. Are we putting concepts like productivity over relationship with God? How will we take a hard look at our lives, so that we may ensure that God comes first?

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[1] Kiefer, James. "Benedict." Mission of Saint Clare. July 11, 2017. http://www.missionstclare.com/english/July/morning/11m.html (accessed July 11, 2017).

[2] Ibid.

Saint Philip: If the Spirit Leads

If you have come here today, then I imagine that for just a moment you are seeking some sort of respite. A word of peace that pierces the awfully violent, loud, and overwhelming balloon of a world that spins and circles around the sun these days. Even at this moment something might be screaming out for your attention: the chores at home, the work still to do, the impending doom of an election, the bills to pay, and even really good things like time with family, social gatherings, or a favorite book or TV show. St. Mary’s Chapel at St. John’s Church in Decatur does only a minimal job of shielding us from the outside noises of a world that screams for our attention, but even if the traffic is silent the inner rumblings of our thoughts, feelings, and emotions may prevent us from experiencing true peace. You have come here though and probably not to hear a great sermon, but to commune with God.

 

In this violent, loud, and overwhelming world you might believe that God does not speak, or maybe you are here wondering if in this peace God might speak. The silence of God might seem like the case. How could it not be with the state of things? I believe that God never ceases speaking. God never stops talking with us. God speaks overwhelming love that still creates, restores, and sustains all things, but if we never stop to listen how will we hear God’s voice?

Philip, a deacon and an evangelist, could not help but hear God talking with him. So, in this moment of rest listen to the story of Philip. One of seven honest men appointed by the apostles to distribute the common funds and resources of the nascent Church, Philip stationed himself at first in Jerusalem. When a group of murderous men stoned Stephen to death Philip traveled to Samaria to preach the gospel there. Amazingly while Philip traveled he listened for God’s voice. Even more amazingly he heard it.

A messenger from God spoke to Philip telling him to travel south to Gaza. This appears strange enough to us that an angel made his travel arrangements, but then the Spirit of God sometimes asks us to do peculiar things. This was even more the case when Philip felt God calling him to approach a treasurer from the queen of the Ethiopians. This Ethiopian eunuch had traveled to Jerusalem to worship. On his way home he struggled in his chariot to understand a beautiful passage from Isaiah about the suffering servant. So upon God’s calling Philip (out of nowhere) ran up to the chariot to ask, “Do you understand what you are reading?” This was a bold call by the ever bold Spirit!

To put it into a modern analogy, I believe this would be like someone running down the aisle of an airplane to grab an open seat (on a Southwest flight obviously) next to someone who seemed to be struggling reading the Bible on their Kindle. Although we may find this type of behavior crazy, I think the Spirit is starting to call us into this type of absurd behavior. As our Presiding Bishop says we are the Episcopal branch of the Jesus Movement and we are called to be Crazy Christians. To do this though, we need to be like Philip.

Philip did not just run up to the Ethiopian man and say you need to believe in God or else. No, Philip saw this man struggling with the Word of God, so he approached, he asked, and then once the invitation to share had been extended Philip shared the good news of Christ Jesus. We do not think that we like evangelism in the Episcopal Church, but the truth is that once we actually try it we are pretty good at it. I know you are skeptical, but let’s slow this down using Philip as our example.

Philip was called by others. He was given a servant’s position. He listened to God and used common sense that he must move after Stephen’s death. He heard God’s voice calling him elsewhere. He approached a person in need with humility. After an invitation to converse Philip shared God’s Good News. Once he did this the man even wanted to be baptized! This is the model of discipleship.

We have been deputized at our re-birth in Baptism to be just like Philip: To listen and be fed by the Holy Spirit; to seek out with humility those who are in need; to share the Good News (not scary news or bad news) of Christ Jesus as we have received it, and even, in emergency situations, to baptize those who want to be part of this movement with us. You have come here to be fed, to experience a bit of respite, but you will be sent out to serve others and to share the Good News. This Good News is that God has shown us a path of Salvation through Christ Jesus. Let us be so wise as to listen when God calls us, like God called Philip, even if it seems a bit crazy what God may tell us to do next!