From the Letter to the Hebrews:
But Jesus has now obtained a more excellent ministry, and to that degree he is the mediator of a better covenant, which has been enacted through better promises.
(From the Daily Office Lectionary – Hebrews 8:5 (NRSV) – January 27, 2014.)
A cartoon showed up on Facebook this morning:
It immediately brought to mind a cartoon from years ago, which I posted in answer to my friend who offered the first; I captioned it with a question — “Another denomination?”
And then the writer to the Letter to the Hebrews comes along in the Daily Office readings with his suggestion that the death, resurrection, and ascension of Jesus has created “a better covenant” than that made by God with the Hebrews at Sinai. He even goes so far as to say, in a few verses that God “has made the first one obsolete. And what is obsolete and growing old will soon disappear.” (v. 13) I don’t actually believe that’s so, as history has shown that Judaism is not likely to disappear. But what this has me thinking about is denominationalism and our tendency to think that our way of being Christian, whatever it may be, is better than some other way of being Christian.
Back in the 1970s we had a saying — “Different strokes for different folks” — which I’ve always thought a good reason for there to be differing expressions of the faith. I grew up in a multi-denominational household: my mother was reared in the Disciples of Christ; my father was a Methodist; my step-father was Baptist who had converted to Roman Catholicism; my brother joined the Missouri Synod Lutherans and then married a member of the United Church of Canada. And nearly all of them, by the time I became an Episcopalian, were non-practicing. So none of those traditions seemed any “better” than the others; they were simply different.
Yesterday we held the annual meeting of our parish. We heard reports from staff and program leaders about the past year and plans for the coming year; we elected members of the governing board; we appointed representatives to our larger judicatory; we received a budget. Then we held a worship service – the celebration of the Holy Eucharist, shared a meal, and went home. We did all these things the way Episcopalians do them. We could have done them the way Baptists or Lutherans or Methodists do them, but we didn’t. Because we’re Episcopalians. Our way isn’t “better;” it’s simply different.
From time to time members of our evangelism and growth teams will suggest that we do something like the big evangelical non-denominational church down the street or in another town. Usually the reason is because that church is bigger than we are, so they must be “doing something right.” The implication is that what that bigger church is doing is “better.” Maybe it is . . . but it may just be that it’s different.
The unfortunate problem with denominationalism is that sort of judgmentalism about which denomination, which way of being Christian, is “better” always seems to creep into the conversation! We need to remember that old saw from the 1970s — “Different strokes for different folks” — and recognize that not everyone is fed by our particular style of worship, governance, fellowship, or theology. For some, the church which emphasizes “Who’s a good dog? Who wants a cookie?” feeds their spirit; for others, the church which preaches “He said unto them ‘No, No'” makes more sense. Neither is better; they’re simply different.
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Father Funston is the rector of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Medina, Ohio.
The musical Godspell debuted in 1971 (my junior year in college); in it, Christ is portrayed as a clown. Whether it was an expression of or the catalyst for the phenomenon of offering clown eucharists as an edgy, avant-garde presentation of the Christian Mysteries, I really don’t know. The two are inextricably linked in my memory.
I have a pair of cufflinks with part of this verse inscribed on them in Latin: “Sacerdos in Aeternum” (“Priest Forever”). They were given to me as an ordination present. I seldom have reason or opportunity to wear them as I don’t generally wear long-sleeved, let alone French-cuff, shirts. But yesterday I did.
“You shall draw water with rejoicing from the springs of salvation.”
Today is the first Sunday in November which means that instead of the normal sequence of lessons for Ordinary Time, we are given the option of reading the lessons for All Saints Day, which falls every year on November 1. So today we heard a very strange reading from the Book of Daniel, a to-my-ear very troubling gradual psalm (in which we sing of wreaking vengeance on the nations and punishment on the peoples, of binding king in chains, and of inflicting judgment on the nobles bound in iron), a bit of Paul’s letter to the Church in Ephesus extolling the riches of the inheritance of the saints, and to Luke’s version of the Beatitudes in which Jesus not only blesses the poor, the hungry, and the weeping, he sighs woefully over the future plight people like ourselves – the comparatively wealthy, those whose bellies are full, and those in relatively good state of mind.
The saints whom we celebrate on this day (and the many who are given special days of individual recognition) were people who tried to live according to the Bible as they understood its teachings. Like us, they read it and encountered those troubling visions, those petulant patriarchs, those bloodthirsty psalms, and somehow looked past them and through them to see the God of faith, the God who Incarnate in Jesus said, “Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you.” We extoll the virtues of those saint and we celebrate their lives and their witness because they help us to do the same. By their lives and their examples, they clean the windshield for us; they clean away the bug blood and the mud, so that we no longer focus on the window, but on the God the window shows us.
We are straying from our usual lectionary path today because it is one of our Children’s Sundays and we have some younger kids reading the lessons at the 10 a.m. service. So, instead of a long reading from the prophet Joel (RCL Year C, Track 1), we have a brief lesson from the Book of Ben Sira, which is sometimes called Ecclesiasticus. (RCL Year C, Track 2) We thought it would be easier for a child to read. 
I bring you greetings from the people of St. Paul’s Parish, Medina, Ohio, where I am privileged to serve as rector. Nearly all the active members of our congregation know and respect Patrick, and have asked me to convey their congratulations to him and to you, together with the assurance of their prayers, as you continue together in a new ministry only recently begun. Of course, none of them know Sandy, but we offer our greetings and prayers for her diaconal ministry among you, as well.
In the original Star Trek series, the crew’s uniforms were color coded: gold uniforms were command; red uniforms were engineering and security; and blue uniforms were science and medical. Parish ministry entails all three. So, Patrick, I have a little gift for you — a set of three pairs of official Star Trek color-coded uniform socks to remind you of these aspects of pastoral ministry.
Which brings us, at last, to the blue uniforms, the science and medical corps of the star ship. Mr. Spock the Science officer and Doctor “Bones” McCoy always wore blue. One of the ancient terms that we still use for pastoral ministry is “the cure of souls,” the word “cure” having pretty much the same meaning as it has in medicine. Broadly speaking, this ministry is the care, protection, and oversight of the nourishment and spiritual well-being of the souls committed to the pastor’s care; it may be shared with others, with deacons or with lay ministers, but it is truly the ministry of the parish priest. It is in this “blue shirt” ministry that those wonderful, painful, joyful, intimate moments of grace that I spoke of earlier will happen.
We are given three very challenging readings from Holy Scripture this morning. First, there is Jeremiah’s familiar, but radical, prophetic metaphor of God as a potter able to do with the nation of Israel what a potter does with a spoiled piece of work. Second, perhaps the oddest piece of New Testament literature, Paul’s personal letter to a man named Philemon returning a runaway slave whom Paul has converted to Christianity. And, lastly, Luke’s report of Jesus’ radical requirement that his followers must hate their possessions, their families, and even themselves. What I believe is common among these lessons is a call to radical transformation.
We are used to thinking of the Book of Isaiah as the work of a single prophet, but it is really three books: First Isaiah, comprising chapters 1-39; Second Isaiah, made up of chapters 40-55; and Third Isaiah, chapters 56-66. These three prophets did their work in three different and distinct periods in Jewish history: the late 8th Century BCE; the mid-6th Century BCE, and the late 6th Century BCE, respectively. This is clear from evidence in their writings: their themes vary and each prophet speaks from a different location. First Isaiah is clearly set in pre-exilic Jerusalem; Second Isaiah was obviously written in Babylon; Third Isaiah speaks from post-exilic Jerusalem. Nonetheless, there is a sense of unity in the writings that make up this book. Phrases and themes recur, and there are linkages later and earlier passages. Today’s reading is from First Isaiah and introduces a topic which will be taken up again by Second and Third Isaiah: what constitutes proper worship?
“Name this child.” That’s what I say to parents of infant baptismal candidates as I take their children from them. The words are not actually written in the baptismal service of The Book of Common Prayer as they are in some other traditions’ liturgies, but there is a rubric on page 307 that says, “Each candidate is presented by name to the Celebrant . . . .” so asking for the child’s name is a practical way of seeing that done. It’s practical, but it’s also a theological statement. 
