Healing the Breach

How will you heal the breach like St. Cuthbert?

Collect for St. Cuthbert
Almighty God, you called Cuthbert from following the flock to be a shepherd of your people: Mercifully grant that, as he sought in dangerous and remote places those who had erred and strayed from your ways, so we may seek the indifferent and the lost, and lead them back to you; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

Lessons for today:
2 Corinthians 6:1–10
Psalm 23
Matthew 6:24–33

Think for a moment about the following question: Who in the world is your arch nemesis? Presumably none of us are crime-fighting superheroes, so perhaps that is the wrong question. Let me try it again. Who in this world do you most dislike? Or, maybe I could put it in more practical terms: With whom would you not want to be stuck on an elevator for several hours? Do you have an answer?

I will not make you submit your answer for approval, but I wonder on whom your mind focused. Was it a politician whom you feel is unfit for office? Is it someone who incites terrorism? How about someone closer to you? A sibling who was relentlessly unkind? An ex that treated you like dirt? A parent who disowned you? A child who permanently scarred you? I imagine we can think of someone not just in the news but in our lives who has caused us great harm. How about someone in this church though?

Quite often in the history of the Church (with an uppercase C) severe dislike has arisen between fellow members in the Body of Christ. While enmity between any two parties causes pain, when hostility arises among followers of Jesus a dreadful scarring occurs. The wounding that we—as Christians—inflict upon one another seems more dubious and detrimental than scars caused by outside forces. It is like a clinched right fist punches a tender left bicep, a left foot stopping a right big toe, an elbow crushing a hipbone. This violence only causes pain to oneself. Still, as I look around the Christian landscape, I see more divisiveness than ever before.

In our Youth Confirmation Class last spring we discussed the particular place of the Episcopalian Tradition among the Christian landscape. Evan used the image of a river, which has split into divergent streams to express our current state of denominationalism. At first, I found myself taking pride in our place in the river—not at the head of the waters, but also not the most recent stream to sprout off on its own. Certainly I celebrate the place we occupy in the scope of Christianity.

Yes, I love that what draws us Episcopalians together is the importance of our worship. I cherish that we do not make people sign some statement of beliefs before we start loving them. I think it is paramount that we serve together, like Jesus served us. I believe it is critical that we do not turn off our minds in church. And of course, I love the integrity that our lives are to reflect following Jesus not just on Sunday mornings but every day. Still, when we start to believe that we have it all, that we are right about everything, or that we are better than anyone or everyone else we have lost our way. And worse, we have created a breach between ourselves and fellow members of Christ’s Body. Of course, this kind of Christian-on-Christian aggression is nothing new.

During the years of the Seventh Century branches of Christianity fought battles on the farthest reaches of the British Islands. Not only were two parts of the Body of Christ undergoing conflict—the Roman and the Celtic practice—but also, in that time and place paganism was challenging Christianity’s place in the hearts of many. Onto the scene stepped a calm, devoted monastic named Cuthbert whom the Church celebrates today.

After the death of Aidan, who challenged paganism in Northumbria, Cuthbert became the preeminent Christian leader in the north of what we now call Great Britain. Cuthbert received a vision in the night sky, as Aidan was dying, which caused Cuthbert to enter the religious life. He served as prior at two monasteries and was also made a bishop. As a religious man he would travel great distances to care for isolated people staying months at a time if necessary to ensure that their physical and spiritual needs were met. On top of this, his calm presence at the Synod of Whitby allowed for the rising division between Celtic and Roman practices of Christianity to cease.

Cuthbert represented in many ways the Celtic practices of Christianity during the day, but instead of seeking his own end he sought first the Kingdom of God. Cuthbert served as a healer of the breach between Roman beliefs and Celtic ones. If not for his reassuring leadership the Church would have suffered even greater division. As a bishop and a monastic, Cuthbert led using word, deed, and sacramental leadership, so that God’s healing could happen and all could follow Jesus—the head of our Body.

We might look back at the life of Cuthbert and think that ultimately he failed though, as the Church catholic appears so divided today. We may believe that Cuthbert’s hope of a unified Body of Christ appears broken now. However, his way of reflecting the light of Christ and sharing the Good News of Christ in his day provides for us a cheerful example in our divided days.

If we seek first the Kingdom of God and follow in the path of Christ Jesus we will not be divided. The closer we grow to God, the closer we grow to one another. Will we agree about everything with others? No. Will we all worship God in the same way? No. Will everyone acknowledge the same way of following after Jesus? Probably not. However, if we are to begin to heal the wounds we have been so good at making on our own body—the Body of Christ—we must be willing to care less about the worries of this world and more about the life in God’s Kingdom.

God gives us the joyful task of living into God’s Kingdom not in the future, but right now. There are not separate parts of the kingdom—there is one Kingdom! God calls us to be part of the one body—the Body of Christ—right now. There are not multiple bodies—there is one body. God calls us to be like Cuthbert who was a healer of the breach in his day. How will we heal the breaches in our day? How will you love your enemies inside and outside the Church?

Even Death on a Cross

The portion of Paul’s letter to the Philippians, which we read today, offers for us a profound challenge: “Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus.” How are we—mere mortals—supposed to have the same mind as Jesus the Christ had?

As I think more about having the mind of Christ the task becomes exponentially more difficult. To me it seems easier to think of the ways that would be ineffective at having the same mind as Christ. How might we not be like Christ? Well, we can rule out committing the deadly sins and breaking the Ten Commandments, but then we get into some trickier territory. Thinking good thoughts always seems like a good idea, but then not acting on our good intentions is part of the pavement on the way to hell. What may be even worse though is believing that it is up to us to act our way into being like Christ.

For us to be like Christ we cannot simply think our way into this state, nor can we act our way into having the mind of Christ. In actuality, we may be overthinking all of this. The first word in this reading is let, as in let it happen because the Spirit is already at work. Is that it? Are we just passive blobs like amoeba sitting on a log? I do not think so, I believe we do have a part to play. The way for God’s Spirit to transform not only our minds but also the rest of our innermost and outermost comes in a most countercultural way: death.

Last night I saw a documentary about the band the Avett Brothers. They are a great folk/songwriter band from North Carolina who create music that has depth and soul uncommon for our age. I commend your listening to their albums. At one point one of the members of the Avett Brothers made an offhand comment about how everyone thinks their songs are morbid because simply put they are not afraid to talk about or rather sing about death. Apparently writing about loss and death, instead of wild nights and finding love in this day and age invites criticism.

No one really likes talking about death, but somehow at least from my perspective, some death is easier to think about than others. A well-lived life of eighty, ninety, or a hundred years often does not bear the same sadness as a life cut far short. The end of a struggle with a debilitating disease feels easier for us to bear than seeing someone pass tragically in the blink of an eye. How much more would the death of a beloved friend or family member strike us? How much more would the death of a beloved leader shake us? How much more would we be transformed by the death of not just a leader, teacher, or friend, but the death of God who came to save us by being with us?

These beautiful words from Paul’s letter do not simply invite us into living like Christ, they invite us into dying like him. Christ who became incarnate in Jesus did not regard his godly nature as something to be exploited rather, he emptied himself and was born as a lowly human being—a human being acquainted with poverty, oppression, and suffering. This life though was not the end of the story, it was only the beginning—or rather the continuation of what God has always been doing. We may not like to speak about it, but on this day—Holy Cross Day—we are drawn into this moment when Jesus not only endured death, but even death on a cross. So why is this so important and what does it have to do with letting Christ’s mind be in us?

For us to let our entire lives be transformed by Christ, for us to let the same mind be in us as was in Christ Jesus we are called to our own crosses and to our own deaths—not just literal crosses and deaths, but every form that these sufferings take. Now, as the Avett Brothers remind us no one likes talking about death—especially death on a cross. As strange as it sounds though, seeking our own crosses is a prerequisite for living as a Christian. Yes, God will always love us, but living as a follower of Christ does not mean that we point to Jesus’ death and keep on going the same as we always have. Nor can we call ourselves Christians if merely think that all our screw-ups are covered in some cosmic insurance policy. That is not life in Christ—that is not letting the same mind be in us as was in Christ Jesus.

Christ Jesus came to show us that the ways that had always been no longer worked. That sacrificial violence does not work anymore. Even though they crucified God Incarnate, God still lived. We cannot scapegoat the problems out of our lives, like previous generations tried to do. We cannot avoid the problems of our lives, like we may be prone to do. Nor, can we otherwise try to weasel our way out of our own issues. Instead, we are required to do the hard work and heavy lifting of picking up our own crosses. This means turning inside and seeing what it is that needs to die so that God may resurrect it. This means inviting God to be in us. This means that through us God can turn violence, disaster, famine, and all other suffering in this world into a source of God’s healing redemption. For us to have the same mind as Christ we must start by seeking out our own crosses, lifting them up, and walking with Jesus not away from hardship, but towards it!

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The Annunciation of Our Lord Jesus Christ to the Blessed Virgin Mary (or simply TAoOLJCttBVM)

Have you started your Christmas shopping yet? We are only nine short months away from the big day! Before you know it retailers will be exchanging their Cadbury eggs for candy canes, the holiday songs will start filling stores with cheer, and we will wait expectantly for Jolly Ol’ Saint Nick to come down the chimney. We can laugh at this, but my grandmother, Nangy, often would tell me excitedly on our way to the beach in the summer that she had finished all her Christmas shopping. I would snicker, but pretty soon I realized that she was being serious.

The commercial and secular versions of Christmas tend to infuriate me; however, I appreciated that my Nangy would spend months thinking about how she would celebrate the birth of God into this world with her family. My grandmother’s desire to get ready for Christmas year round encourages me to ponder more deeply this moment when Mary begins preparing to bear God Incarnate into this world. What was it like for Mary to encounter Gabriel?

There is a piece of altar artwork that hangs in the Uffizi Gallery in Florence, Italy. The golden backdrop that Simone Martini employed presents an immaculate setting for the very first moment of Gabriel’s conversation with Mary. Carefully examining the artwork shows that the angelic messenger’s words are visually depicted on the wooden piece; the original Greek words fly from Gabriel’s mouth towards Mary. Less careful examination is required to see that Mary does not want anything to do with the messenger of God.

In this Gothic era painting, Gabriel kneels at Mary’s feet. Mary bends away from the angel’s words. Gabriel looks longingly at this highly favored lady. Mary pulls a veil to cover her ears from the greeting, and she looks away from the winged creature. Highly praised as Martini’s masterpiece, this artistic vision perfectly captures the skepticism that envelopes the start of Mary’s journey. When Gabriel speaks, “Greetings favored one! The Lord is with you!” I cannot help but hear his message in the tone of a telemarketer calling at the most inopportune moment, “Grrrreeetings favored one! YOU are theeaaa BIIIIIGGG WINNER! The Lord is with you!”

Mary’s journey begins with apprehension, as she is perplexed by Gabriel’s words. She ponders all these things in her heart and wonders what sort of greeting this might be. The angel not wanting to be denied continues his persuasion, "Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God,” then he promises her son, Jesus, will be great, the Son of the Most High. Mary knows there has to be a catch, "How can this be, since I am a virgin?" The protestation of Mary seems a completely human response. How often do we turn God away with our excuses? I do not have the time, the money, or the strength to do this God. Yet, Gabriel continues, “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you; therefore the child to be born will be holy; he will be called Son of God. And now, your relative Elizabeth in her old age has also conceived a son; and this is the sixth month for her who was said to be barren. For nothing will be impossible with God."

It is in this moment that everything changes. It is in this moment that something clicks within Mary.
A fresco of the Annunciation completed by Fra Angelico depicts this moment. Gabriel announcing something deeply personal to Mary, that her barren cousin will bear a child, shifts the trajectory of our relationship with God. Mary instead of leaning away, angels towards the angel. She mimics Gabriel’s posture. It is in this moment that Mary says yes. She takes the impossible with God. “Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.”

For nine months she would possess within her the Incarnate God. What a mysterious time for Mary! And, what a mysterious time for us! God desires for us to bear Jesus into the world. God speaks to us urging us to bring Christ into this aching existence. Christmas is not just a season that we celebrate in December, the Incarnate God comes to us every day! Let us be ready for Christ’s coming, not just with candy and music, but with open hearts, expectant souls, listening ears, and excited spirits. Amen.

Saint Joseph

Reni’s Portrait of Saint Joseph with the baby Jesus

Paul’s Letter to the Romans makes a strong case that our inheritance as children of God depends not on the law, but on faith. What does it mean to be faithful? During the season of Lent I have had a bit of a shocking realization. As I look back at past Lenten disciplines, I have discovered that I spent a lot of time creating laws for myself. While for some giving up or taking on something provide a new spiritual intimacy with God, I tended towards the extremes. If I give up chocolate for forty days, then God will shower me with grace. I started to believe that I needed to make myself feel so bad that I would have to rely more heavily upon God (not good), or that I needed to lure God into loving me by making myself into such lowly creature (much worse).

The Rev. Evan Garner pointed out on Ash Wednesday, Lent IS NOT about competitive suffering (bragging about how bad we have it) causing God to love us more. God loves us unconditionally! Lent IS NOT a time to make ourselves feel bad enough that we have to rely more on God. Focusing on sin (especially in others) can be an obsessive and self-centered practice that does not even allow God in to transform us. Upon reflection I have been “Lenting” all wrong. Lent IS a time when we intentionally focus upon giving our hearts back to God. It IS a season about returning to God. Lent IS all about faith, but again what does it mean to be faithful?

Faithfulness seems a slightly evasive quality. Sometimes I find it easier to describe what it is not, then what it is (it is not being perfect, right, or unquestioning). Yet, even more helpful than describing what faithfulness is or is not, talking about who is faithful aides me in understanding how I might continue to return to God in this season of Lent.

Today we celebrate a saint who is a paragon, a shining example of faithfulness. Today we celebrate Saint Joseph, the husband of Mary mother of Christ Jesus. Today we look at a quiet, faithful man that stands out as an ideal partner in our Lenten journey.

When I was a child growing up at St. Andrew’s, Birmingham there were only two parts in the Epiphany pageant that I wanted to play. One was the role of the inn keeper because I only had one line, “There’s no room in the inn,” and the other was that of Joseph. I liked acting as Joseph because he said no words, he just protectively walked with the pregnant Mary, like a loyal sheep dog, and watched over the birth of Jesus with loving admiration. Reflecting twenty years later, I find that being Joseph taught me that his seemingly small and simplistic part in the Incarnation of God took faithfulness that sheds light on how to walk through Lent.
Only two of the four Gospel accounts even mention Joseph, and in those books, Matthew and Luke, he is not even quoted. His faithfulness was not seen in mighty words, but rather in his deeds. Matthew describes Joseph as a righteous man who was going to dismiss Mary quietly when he discovered she was with child. Joseph could have legally put Mary to death for adultery, but instead he had a dream. In this dream an angel told him that he was to take Mary as his wife, as the child within her was from the Holy Spirit. Joseph could have ignored the dream, but instead he acts upon his faith and takes Mary as his wife, knowing that the child she bore was not his own but God’s.

Courageously later in Matthew, Joseph again led by angelically laden dreams, protects his family from Herod’s psychopathic, narcissistic slaughtering of innocent children. Joseph dreams that he should take his family from Israel to Egypt and he does, then he guides them back to Israel. Joseph fearing that Archelaus, the son of Herod, would seek revenge against him, even has a final Divine dream in which the Lord told him to avoid Herod’s son and go to Nazareth.

Yet, Joseph’s faithfulness to God was certainly not always easy. Joseph, a carpenter by trade, most likely had to work very hard to provide for his family. And while he probably taught Jesus’ his woodworking trade, traditionally scholars believe he was much older than Mary, and he died before Jesus’ adult ministry. So the last example of Joseph’s faithfulness is what we read today from Luke’s account of the Gospel.
What about this passage shows Joseph’s saintly quality, his faithfulness? After acting out a plot line that belongs in a Hollywood movie, Mary and Joseph track down their missing twelve-year-old Jesus, who has been in the Temple for three days with the religious elite of the day. Mary offers an appropriate parental response, “Child, why have you treated us like this? Look, your father and I have been searching for you in great anxiety.” Jesus almost nonchalantly answers, "Why were you searching for me? Did you not know that I must be in my Father's house?" Luke says that Mary and Joseph do not quite understand this.
Maybe Joseph was not smart enough to get what Jesus was saying. Maybe he was not paying attention. However, I believe that Joseph’s misunderstanding points to an extreme sense of faithfulness towards Jesus. He believes that Jesus is his son. Even when the adolescent Incarnate God says that his Father is in heaven, Joseph still wants to protect him, to provide for him, and to teach him how to live in this world. This is Joseph’s faithfulness, staying by Jesus even beyond understanding.