That Which We Have Heard & Known

Occasional thoughts of an Anglican Episcopal priest

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What’s at the Core? (Sermon for St. John’s Day)

June 29, 2010 / / 0 Comments

On June 27, 2010, my parish hosted the local Masonic Lodge at its later worship service, as explained in the sermon below. The lessons for the Revised Common Lectionary for the day (Pentecost 5, Proper 8C) were 2 Kings 2:1-2, 6-14; Psalm 77:1-2, 11-20; Galatians 5:1, 13-25; and Luke 9:51-62. At the later service, however, we used the lessons from the Episcopal Church’s Common of Saints for the Feast of the Nativity of St. John the Baptist: Isaiah 40:1-11; Acts 13:14b-26; Psalm 85:7-13; and Luke 1:57-80. The following sermon was written to preach at both services with either set of lessons.

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Today at the 10:00 a.m. service we will be commemorating St. John the Baptist.

We are hosting the local lodge of Free and Accepted Masons, whose custom it is to attend church together on the Sunday closest to the Feast of the Nativity of St. John the Baptist, also called “St. John’s Day.” In the Gospel lesson for that service, John’s father, the priest Zechariah (who had been rendered mute before John’s birth), utters a prophecy on the day John is circumcised. He says to his infant son:

You, child, will be called the prophet of the Most High;
for you will go before the Lord to prepare his ways,
to give knowledge of salvation to his people by the forgiveness of their sins.
By the tender mercy of our God,
the dawn from on high will break upon us,
to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death,
to guide our feet into the way of peace.”

Luke, the writer of the Gospel, then concludes, “The child grew and became strong in spirit, and he was in the wilderness until the day he appeared publicly to Israel.”
In our Gospel at this [our early] service, we encounter Jesus, John’s cousin and Lord, the one for whom John was the forerunner, as Jesus encounters a variety of people who offer to follow him … after taking care of other business. Again, our Gospel writer is Luke:

As they were going along the road, someone said to him, “I will follow you wherever you go.” And Jesus said to him, “Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests; but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.” To another he said, “Follow me.” But he said, “Lord, first let me go and bury my father.” But Jesus said to him, “Let the dead bury their own dead; but as for you, go and proclaim the kingdom of God.” Another said, “I will follow you, Lord; but let me first say farewell to those at my home.” Jesus said to him, “No one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God.”

These two stories from Luke’s Gospel speak to us about what is central and what is not.

Today in the Episcopal Church and the Anglican Communion, and indeed in nearly all mainline Christian denominations, we are engaged (as we have always been) in a discussion about what is central to the Christian faith … what is core doctrine and what is not?

Some centuries ago, someone in the church laid down the maxim, “In essentials unity, in non-essentials liberty, in all things charity.” This has been attributed variously to St. Augustine, to John Wesley the founder of Methodism, to John Amos Comenius the founder of the Moravian Church, and to Peter Mederlein a 16th Century Lutheran theologian. I don’t really know who first said it, but it’s a good rule to follow. The problem is in determining what is central to religion, what is essential, and what (on the other hand) is peripheral or non-essential.

Today’s Gospel stories, whether of John the forerunner or Jesus his cousin and Lord, are guides for us in considering that question.

John was the son of a priest for whom one would have thought the religious establishment was central and essential. As Luke tells us, he “grew and became strong in the spirit.” As the son of a priest, it would have been expected that he would become a priest – the priesthood in Ancient Judaism was hereditary. Like his father, he would be expected to learn the rituals and to take his regular place in the rotation of priests serving in the sanctuary of the Jerusalem Temple, to be at the very center of power in the Jewish religion. Instead, he retreated into “the wilderness until the day he appeared publicly to Israel.”

In the religious world of John’s and Jesus’s day there were two important and powerful groups of Jewish leaders, both of whom are mentioned in the Gospels: The Sadducees and the Pharisees. The Sadducees were a priestly group, Aaronites, associated with the leadership of the Temple in Jerusalem; they claimed descent from Zadok, the high priest who had anointed King Solomon. Their approach to religion focused primarily on properly performing the Temple rites; they emphasized that portion of the Law of Moses which dealt with sacrificial ritual and did not believe in an afterlife. Most importantly, they rejected the so-called “Oral Torah” or “Talmud”, which concerned the daily life of Jews and which was revered by the Pharisees. For the Sadducees the center of power and authority, the Temple and its rituals was all important. John was, by birth, a Sadducee but he rejected all of that.

The Pharisees, in contrast to the Sadducees, embraced and emphasized the “Oral Torah” and its many and detailed rules for daily life, and they did believe in a resurrection and an afterlife. The Pharisees are the ancestors of today’s Rabbinic Jews with their rules of “keeping kosher.” The Pharisees believed that all Jews in their ordinary life, and not just the Temple priesthood or Jews visiting the Temple, should observe rules and rituals concerning home life, purification, and family relationships. For them, the center of religious power and authority was the Synagogue where the everyday Jew was taught to obey, and where they the Pharisees enforced, the rules of daily living.

Jesus the Rabbi was probably a Pharisee, or at least more sympathetic to their understanding of religion than that of the Sadducees. Nonetheless, in the encounters between Jesus and the three persons who want to follow him in the regular lectionary Gospel today, we find Jesus rejecting precisely these things: he has no “home life” (for unlike a bird or a fox, he has no home!); he has no concern for purity (“let the dead bury the dead”); and he couldn’t care less about family relationships (turning back to bid a parent farewell renders one unworthy of following him). Just as John, who would blaze his trail, rejected his Saddusaic heritage and its concept of the center of religious life, Jesus rejects his Pharisaic origins and its understanding of the core of religion.

Or were they? Were they rejecting their roots entirely or were they instead rejecting those peripheral things which those traditions had wrongly placed in the center of the Jewish faith? Were they instead rejecting the non-essentials with which others had covered over and obscured the essential? The non-essentials, whether ritual temple sacrifice or kosher laws of daily life, were central to the power structures of the day, but not to religion as John and Jesus saw it.

The Sadducees had put Temple ritual and sacrificial system at the center of their version of the Jewish faith. John rejected all of that. When the Sadducees and the Pharisees came out to see what he was doing at the Jordan River, he called them both a “brood of vipers” and admonished them to “bear fruit worthy of repentance.”
“The answer to sin,” he said, “is not offering some animal on the Temple altar! The answer to sin is repentance, turning back toward God! Having a contrite heart and washing here in the Jordan is more effective than any Temple sacrifice.” “Repent!” he said, because “one who is more powerful than I is coming after me; I am not worthy to carry his sandals. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire.”

That One, his cousin Jesus, also encountered the Sadducees and the Pharisees together. On one occasion the Sadducees put to him a rather silly question about the afterlife, imagining a woman who had seven husbands: Whose wife would she be in the here-after? Jesus dealt handily with that question and was then asked by a Pharisee, “What is the greatest commandment?”

Most folks understand that question to mean “Which of the Ten Commandments is most important?” or “Which of the many many rules of daily living in the Talmud is most important?” I believe that Pharisee was asking something very different. I believe he was asking, “Is the Saddusaic emphasis on the Laws of ritual sacrifice and Temple rite the central core of our religion, or is the Pharisaic emphasis on living a pure and holy daily life with all its minute rules at the core of our faith?”

And Jesus answered in a way that made it quite clear that he and his cousin John were right on the same track. “Neither,” was his answer.
“‘You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.’ This is the greatest and first commandment. And a second is like it: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.”

God was his answer, as it had been John’s answer and as it should be our answer.

The essential core of our faith is love of God and those whom God loves. About that we are and must be united! Everything else, temple rituals, religious rites, rules of daily living and purity of conduct, questions of whether to use vestments or not, what color they should be if we do, who can be ordained or not, who can be married or not, whether to use candles or not, whether to have music, and if we do whether it can be accompanied by musical instruments, and all the other things we debate …. those are peripheral, the non-essential. With regard to those we can disagree and we must give each other the liberty to differ. And in all things we can and must treat one another with charity and good will. As St. Paul wrote to the Galatians, “The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. There is no law with regard to such things.”

“In essentials, unity; in non-essentials, liberty; in all things, charity.” Amen.

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(Copyright 2010, The Rev. Dr. C. Eric Funston)

An Ordination Sermon

May 8, 2010 / / 3 Comments

On May 8, 2010, I had the privilege of preaching at the ordination of Jennifer Claire Leider to the Sacred Order of Priests. The lessons chosen by the ordinand were Isaiah 52:7-10; Ephesians 4:11-16; and Matthew 28:16-20. This is what I said:

We have heard three lessons from Scripture today. First, Isaiah’s radiant and joyful oracle: “How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of the messenger who announces peace …..” (Isa. 52:7) The prophet reminds us here that we are all called to become those beautiful, swift-footed messengers who bring good news and announce salvation even as we go about our daily life.

Then Paul’s reminder that every one of us is gifted in some way to accomplish that mission, that each of us is given gifts “to equip the saints for the work of ministry, for building up the body of Christ.” (Eph. 4:12) And finally, the Great Commission: Christ’s injunction that we as a church are to “make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything that [Jesus has] commanded [us].” (Matt 28:19-20a)

These are not lessons usually read at ordinations, nor are they the lessons set out for the Feast of Dame Julian of Norwich, which today happens to be. They are lessons chosen by Jennifer because they speak particularly to her. But they are lessons which speak not so much to the office of the sacramental priesthood but to the ministry of the whole church, to the calling of the priesthood of all believers to spread the Gospel of Jesus Christ, to be disciples who make disciples, to invite the rest of the world into Jesus’s fellowship, to build up this wonderful and sacred mystery we call “The Church.”

Whenever I read or hear the words of Paul addressed to the Church in Ephesus that were read for us this morning, those wonderful words about the variety of gifts given to God’s People, I am reminded of my experience as rector of a congregation which grew rapidly and thus needed to construct a new building. That parish chose a phrase derived from Paul’s letter to Ephesus as its fundraising slogan: “Gifts for the Building Up of the Church.” (Not, I admit, the best bit of exegesis every done!)

Of course, one of the things that congregation needed to do, like any congregation in a building program, was to hire an architect, which we did as if we were calling a new pastor. We reviewed written submissions; we interviewed; we narrowed the field to four designers with church-related experience… and then we started visiting churches they had designed. We must have visited 50 or more religious buildings over the course of several weeks.

As we did so, we began to notice certain commonalities and similarities, and also certain distinctions between religious traditions. We noted, for example, that in ever church there was a room set aside for the use of the clergy in preparing to preside and preach, a room where they could adjust their vestments, review their sermon notes, and meditate with God before leading God’s People in worship. And we found that in that room there was always a sort of devotional focus object, an image, an icon, a statue on which the clergy could focus as they prayed. We discovered that we could predict what that object would be based on the denominational tradition of the church building, or conversely that we could pretty accurately guess what denomination’s church we were in by what that object was.

For example, in Lutheran churches one nearly always finds either that cross-within-a-heart-within-a-rose emblem that was Luther’s personal seal, or a picture of Martin himself. In Methodist churches, we always found a copy of that famous painting of Jesus holding a lighted lantern knocking at an ivy covered garden door. In Baptist churches, without fail the devotional focus image was Salman’s famous “Head of Jesus”. In Roman Catholic churches, of course, the clergy would pray before a statue or icon of the Blessed Virgin. And in Episcopal churches, there is always … a full length mirror…

So let us take a moment this morning and look into that mirror to see what is reflected back to us about this thing we call “priest”, this office of ministry into which the Bishop and the College of Presbyters will ordain Jennifer Claire Leider this morning.

Let us first of all see if Isaiah is correct about the feet of those ordained to announce the reign of God: “How beautiful,” Isaiah tells us … “How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of the messenger ….” (Isa. 52:7) That may be, but as we look into our mirror please note, and let me assure you, that there is perhaps only one in a thousand, maybe only one in a million of the ordained who has beautiful feet like Daniel saw in his vision, “feet like in colour to polished brass” .. a body like beryl, a face as the appearance of lightning, eyes like lamps of fire, and a voice the voice of a multitude. (Daniel 10:6, KJV) One in a million, maybe… but as our mirror should show us most of us priests have feet of clay! We are as prone to stumbling, as prone to making missteps and mistakes, as prone to wander from the straight path of the Lord we love as any other member of the church.

In other words, dear friends, as I said before, priests in this church of ours are human beings! Whatever else we priests may be, whatever else we may be making of our sister Jennifer, she is and will remain as frail and fallible a human being as any of us. We have this treasure, as Paul reminded us, this light shining in our hearts, this poor and partial witness to the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ, in earthen vessels, in clay jars prone to crack and break if we over-use and over-burden them. (2 Cor. 4:7) So let us remember that, above all else: The priest in this church is just a human being!

We have a tendency to forget that, that our priests are human beings. Almost since its beginning we Christians have struggled with two images of the church and thus of the clergy, and this is especially so at times like this when we ordain and empower leadership for the church: Is the church the Virgin Mother, pure, unsullied, and unstained? Or is she an Earth Mother gathering her wayward children to her skirts?

In the Virgin-Mother church, no eye is pure enough to see God, no tongue clean enough to speak God’s name. This church is vigilant in covering her children’s ears and eyes, trying to keep them from seeing or touching the world’s impurity. Her clergy are paragons of virtue, models to the flock in perfection and holiness, in morality and goodness.

In the Earth-Mother church, however, the dirty hands and unwashed faces of her children are a delight. “I am come that you might have life,” Jesus said, “and that you might have it abundantly.” This church’s children gather to her like Ma Kettle’s kids coming in from the barnyard, frogs in their pockets and grass stains on their jeans. What they lack in cleanliness they more than make up in liveliness and in joy. Her clergy are real people with real flaws, earthen vessels prone to breakage.

Of course, we Anglicans are “both/and” sorts of people and live with the tension between the clergy expectations of the Virgin-Mother church and the clergy reality of the Earth-Mother church. So, as we gaze into our full-length Episcopal mirror, let us be especially cognizant of that fact: let us acknowledge that the expectations we hang on the framework of a simple human being are phrased in the terms of that purer Virgin-Mother church.

In our liturgy, we will say today of Jennifer that we expect:
that she will exalt God in the midst of God’s people,
that she will offer acceptable spiritual sacrifices,
that she will boldly proclaim the gospel,
that she will rightly administer the sacraments of the New Covenant,
that she will be a faithful pastor,
that she will be a patient teacher,
that she will be a wise councilor.
And, finally, that in doing all these things, she will do so without reproach.

And let us admit that it is audacious of us to do so, to expect all of that from a frail and fallible human being. It’s not only audacious; it’s outrageous! Outrageously audacious! Or rather that it would be if we did not also believe and trust in Jesus’ promise at the end of Matthew’s Gospel to be with us always, to stand with the human beings we entrust with the church’s ministry, to fill them with the power of the Holy Spirit. Still, it’s a lot to ask of an earthen vessel – to be acceptable and bold and right and faithful and patient and wise and pure and good and holy!

So, Jennifer, why do you want to be a priest? I know you have already answered that question because I asked it of you almost two years ago, and I know that others have asked it of you many times over the past five or so years, but it bears repeating: “Why do you want to be a priest?”

We don’t expect you to answer it again today, because we know the answer. All of us presbyters have been asked it and we have answered it. We may have phrased the answer differently, but for each of us it is the same. It’s not that the person called to priesthood wants to be a priest; it’s that that person must be a priest!

Presbyterian pastor and author Frederick Buchner spoke for us all when he answered that question in his book, The Alphabet of Grace:
“I hear you are entering the ministry,” the woman said down the long table meaning no real harm. “Was it your own idea or were you poorly advised?” And the answer that she could not have heard even if I had given it was that it was not an idea at all, neither my own nor anyone else’s. It was a lump in the throat. It was an itching in the feet. It was a stirring of the blood at the sound of rain. It was a sickening of the heart at the sight of misery. It was a clamoring of ghosts. It was a name which, when I wrote it out in a dream, I knew was a name worth dying for even if I was not brave enough to do the dying myself and if I could not even name the name for sure. Come unto me all ye who labor and are heavy laden and I will give you a high and driving peace. I will condemn you to death. (Frederick Buechner, The Alphabet of Grace, pp. 109-110)

Buechner’s last sentence describing this call to priesthood is mind-blowing: “I will condemn you to death.” It is terrifying and it is terrific! We follow the Christ who leads us through death to life. Death to selfishness, death to ego, and life to the truest self within. We die to self to uncover what the Quakers call, “that of God within” or the “inner Teacher” … the True Self. Your call, Jennifer … our call is to continue dying to self and, as a result, to continue becoming truly alive, to continue growing in boldness and righteousness, in faithfulness and patience, in wisdom and, yes, even holiness.

It is, as any priest here will tell you, a painful process. To be a priest in Christ’s church is, as Paul made quite clear in his letters to the congregations in Ephesus and Rome, a gift; it is a wonderful, precious, costly, and painful gift. As you, Jennifer, have already learned in your hospital work, it will take you into the deepest intimacy with God’s people, with your people. As you have observed, at times you will be with them in the midst of their worst nightmares – death and divorce, devastating illness and the depths of despair. At times, you will feel put-upon and misused. At times, you will feel left out and neglected. At times, there will be conflict, and it will seem like it is eating you alive. People will hurt you, intentionally and spitefully, but also negligently or simply because they are in pain.

We could, I suppose, shelter you from that pain, but we won’t. Because the source of that pain is also the source of the most exquisite joy, when that same intimacy will privilege you with sharing God’s people’s, your people’s happiest and most blessed moments – when two people commit themselves to one another for life, when their children are born, when they know themselves to be God’s beloved.

But be forewarned…. In the midst of all the pain and joy, in dying to self to find your True Self, it is easy to lose yourself. So, it is a good thing every once in awhile to look into our Episcopal full-length mirror and take stock, to remind ourselves who we are and, more importantly, who stands with us.

It is traditional at this point, as an ordination sermon comes to its end, to ask the one whose life is about to be fundamentally altered to stand to receive a special charge. So now I will do that.

Jennifer, my charge to you is a story and a short list of rules.

The leaders of two nations met for a very important summit meeting. As they were talking, a subordinate of one rushed in … angry and livid. The prime minister responded, “Peter, remember Rule #6.”
“Ah! Yes, sir,” and he bowed out.
Another staff member rushed in, totally stressed, obviously overwhelmed.
“Maria, remember Rule #6.”
“Oh, yes, sir. I almost forgot. Thank you, sir.” She too bowed out.
A third rushed in. Same scenario.
The visiting leader is amazed. “Three people have rushed in, almost out of control. You simply mentioned Rule #6, and they immediately calmed down. I have to know this rule.”
“Oh yes,” responds his host. “Rule #6. It is a very good rule. Rule #6 is this: ‘Don’t take yourself too damned seriously.’”

Here are the other five rules:

Rule #1: Be very clear and committed to God’s Purpose and Mission.  Die daily to self that you may continue to become truly alive. Share your people’s good times and bad in all the terrifying pain and terrific joy of it. If you don’t, you destroy your chances of bringing God into in their lives.

Rule #2: Be very clear and committed to your Vision and Principles. You are the messenger announcing peace; you are sent to proclaim the Good News and to baptize all nations. Do whatever it takes to share Jesus with others.

Rule #3: Get out of the church, frequently! There are two reasons for this rule.  First, you must meet people where they are. If you are going to reach the nations and teach them, you need to search for them and you won’t find them inside the church building. Second, for your own sanity, find some friends who aren’t members of the Episcopal Church!

Rule #4: Mentor ten people to do ministry at least as well as, and preferably better than, you can. All those gifts Paul mentioned are given to the whole church – find the people who have them and help them learn to use them!

Rule #5: Do not avoid conflict.  Conflict is messy and it can be painful, but it is also creative and it can be the door to intimacy.  Just learn to not take it personally.

And, of course, Rule #6: Remember what G.K. Chesterton said about angels: “They can fly because they take themselves lightly.” Don’t take yourself too damn seriously. I am tempted to tell you to get a full-length mirror … but I’ve found at least three of them in every Episcopal Church I’ve served in, so I’m sure you’ll find one to use. Over the coming years, every so often, look in that mirror. Remind yourself, you may be a priest … but you are still just a human being! Remember who you are, and remember whose you are; remember who is standing with you. Remember the last sentence of the Great Commission: He is with you always, even to the end of the age! Amen. (Matt. 28:20b)

A Vision

April 27, 2010 / / 0 Comments

This (edited to remove some awful, glaring typographical errors!) is the “Rector’s Reflection” I wrote for the May 2010 issue of St. Paul’s Epistle, the newsletter of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Medina, Ohio.
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What Is A Vision?

In Eugene Peterson’s paraphrase version of Holy Scripture called The Message, he renders a portion of the Prophet Habakkuk’s prophecy this way:

And then God answered: “Write this. Write what you see. Write it out in big block letters so that it can be read on the run. This vision-message is a witness pointing to what’s coming. It aches for the coming; it can hardly wait! And it doesn’t lie. If it seems slow in coming, wait. It’s on its way. It will come right on time.” (Habakkuk 2:2-3)

The first half of Proverbs 29:18 in the Authorized version reminds us that “Where there is no vision, the people perish….”

In seven years time, April 2017, St. Paul’s Episcopal Church of Medina, Ohio, will be 200 years old. We will have much to look back over and to celebrate. Gwendolyn ______________ does a wonderful job of reminding us of our history, both long-ago and more recent. (In this issue of St. Paul’s Epistle, she relates the story of our Columbarium and Memory Garden.) We are very grateful to her for that ministry for it keeps us reminded of and connected to our foundation on the good works many.

That foundation provides us a good vantage point, not so much to look backward at our history as to look forward to our future. Sir Isaac Newton once wrote to a friend, “If I have seen a little further it is by standing on the shoulders of giants.” Sir Isaac, in turn, was quoting an aphorism of the early medieval scholar Bernard of Chartres. According to his student, John of Salisbury, “Bernard of Chartres used to say that we are like dwarfs on the shoulders of giants, so that we can see more than they, and things at a greater distance, not by virtue of any sharpness of sight on our part, or any physical distinction, but because we are carried high and raised up by their giant size.”

I believe we have not only the opportunity, but the duty to look forward, a duty to have a vision “pointing to what’s coming”, a vision that “aches for the coming,” that “can hardly wait!”

As one write has noted, “A Vision is an ideal and unique image of the future. It answers the question, ‘What should we become?’ How would you finish this question: ‘If anything is possible, if there no restraints whatsoever, our church ideally would be _______’? ”

A Vision is not a goal. Goals are good. We should have goals. Challenging goals help us to keep on doing what we have been doing, only more of it or getting better at it: win more games, get better grades, build nicer buildings, increase attendance at worship, broaden our musical horizons, serve more hungry people through Free Farmers’ Market.

A few years ago, a couple of business writers suggested that business organizations should have what they called “Big Hairy Audacious Goals” or “BHAGs”. They defined a BHAG this way: “A true BHAG is clear and compelling, serves as a unifying focal point of effort, and acts as a clear catalyst for team spirit. It has a clear finish line, so the organization can know when it has achieved the goal; people like to shoot for finish lines.” (Collins and Porras, Building Your Company’s Vision, 1996)

Goals are great! BHAGs are super! And it is said that goals, even the biggest and hairiest of them should be SMART, which means that a goal is Specific, Measureable, Attainable, Relevant, and Time-bound.

But a Vision is something different. A Vision is something that speaks to us so powerfully that those who hold it can say with conviction, “If we could achieve that, my life would have the deepest meaning?”

Where a goal keeps us doing what we’ve been doing, a Vision propels us to a different place, to a future radically different from the past. It has been said that the difference between a goal and Vision is continuity – a goal is continuous is the past, which a vision is radically discontinuous, a Vision gives us a compelling picture of a new tomorrow.

The Next Hundred Years

A few days ago the Senior Warden and his wife, Ray and Vicki _____________, took Evelyn and me to dinner at a local oriental restaurant. Predictably, our very pleasant time together ended with Fortune Cookies. My fortune was this: “If you keep doing what you’ve always done, you’ll keep getting what you’ve always gotten.”

WOW!

Could there have been a clearer statement of the need for a Vision for one’s life or one’s business … or one’s church? I don’t think so! If we simply change the word “you” to “the church” in that fortune cookie aphorism, the result is compellingly stark:

IF THE CHURCH KEEPS DOING WHAT IT’S ALWAYS DONE, THE CHURCH WILL KEEP GETTING WHAT IT’S ALWAYS GOTTEN.

Back in 1988, the Bishops of the Anglican Communion and, with them, the General Convention of the Episcopal Church, declared that the 1990s would be the “Decade of Evangelism.” To quote a recent politician, “How’d that go for ya?” Do you remember the church doing a lot of evangelism? Do you remember a lot of growth happening in the Episcopal Church during the 1990s? If you do, please tell the rest of us about it, because I sure don’t remember it! The Bishops and the Convention may have made a declaration, but the church kept doing what it had always done, and it kept getting what it had always gotten … at least what it had gotten since about 1965 – decreasing membership and increasing irrelevance to the lives of those around it.

Why wasn’t the Decade of Evangelism successful? Because it wasn’t compelled by a Vision. Recently, I wrote a note to a clergy friend with whom I was discussing our history of evangelistic success or lack thereof. This is what I wrote:

What I recall is “The Decade of Evangelism” being declared by the General Convention and then practically nobody, from “815” (i.e., our national headquarters) on down, actually doing anything about it. A few “progressive” parishes did some good work of evangelism and grew, and a few more “conservative” congregations did some good work of evangelism and grew, but for the most part the Episcopal Church just said, “We’re going to grow in this decade” and then sat back and assumed the rest of the world would invite itself to know Jesus.

What that experience proves, of course, is that it doesn’t matter whether a particular parish is progressive or conservative. What matters is whether the people in that parish learn how to tell the story of their relationship with Jesus and share that story with others. If we can do that, we grow; if we don’t do that, we die. Whatever else we do isn’t all that important if we’re not doing that.

So how about this as a Vision for our future, as a Vision for St. Paul’s Episcopal Church of Medina, Ohio, in the next hundred years?

My Vision for our parish is to be a community of people who know Jesus Christ personally, who know Jesus Christ so well that they can and do tell their story of knowing him to others wherever and whenever the opportunity presents itself, who know Jesus Christ so well that they recognize him in the neighbor who’s struggling with a broken marriage, in the homeless person on the street, in the hungry family whose monthly income has run out a week before the next paycheck and who have nothing to feed the kids!

My Vision for our parish is to be a community of disciples who follow Jesus so closely that we’re practically treading on his heels and who are so happy and joyful doing so that others, to whom we shout out invitations to join us, want to do exactly that because they can see that we’re on to something!

My Vision for our parish is to be a community of worshipers of every generation who know and tell all sorts of faith stories, who know and sing all sorts of music, who celebrate and share the Holy Eucharist as if it were (as it is!) the greatest party we’ve ever been to, who sometimes have to stand up during worship, not because the Prayer Book rubrics say to do so but because there are no seats left in the Nave!

My Vision for our parish is to be a community of Easter People who know the Real Presence of our Risen Lord among us and who share his presence with the world around us!

Alleluia! Christ Is Risen! The Lord Is Risen Indeed! Alleluia!

The Yoke of the Christ Child (Christmas Eve Sermon 2009)

December 27, 2009 / / 0 Comments

Twenty years ago, not long after Thanksgiving Day, I was doing some Christmas shopping at one of those discount department stores. I won’t say which one, but the chain might have its corporate headquarters in Bentonville, Arkansas. Anyway, I was wandering through the Christmas paraphernalia aisles when my eye spotted a cheap plastic Nativity Set in its box all tightly sealed in shrink-wrapped cellophane. The top of the box had a picture of the crèche scene all set up; there was Mary and Joseph, some farm animals, a few shepherds, three wise men dressed as kings. There was, of course, a price sticker prominently displayed. But what had attracted my attention was that the Baby Jesus couldn’t be seen. What Mary and Joseph seemed to be gazing at with rapt attention and deep love was a sticker which had been placed right over their infant son: “Some Assembly Required” it said.

Right then and there I knew I had my theme for that year’s Christmas sermon! I bought that crèche set, kept it unopened in my office, and used it in that year’s Christmas Eve homily to illustrate the theological notion that in Christ, God the Father had joined heaven to earth and earth to heaven, that “some assembly”, some bringing together of God and humankind had been required and in the Incarnation God accomplished it.

And I also started a tradition of keeping my eye open for some similar object to use as each year’s “focus object” for this annual event, this sermon on the Nativity of Our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Over the years, these illustrative objects have become a source of great fun for me and I hope for the congregations who’ve been subjected to my preaching.

This year, not long after Thanksgiving Day, I happened to be in another sort of store …. The souvenir shop at the Anheuser-Busch Budweiser Brewery in St. Louis, Missouri, when my eye spotted this …. The 2009 29th Annual Christmas Commemorative Budweiser Beer Stein.

I’m sure you are asking the same question my colleagues of the Western Reserve Deanery Clericus asked last week when we had our annual Christmas luncheon gathering and I told them about this object: “What on earth!?” Mother Meghan Froelich, rector of Our Saviour Parish in Akron, spoke for the entire group (and perhaps for you) when, in her best Desi Arnez voice, she said, “Eric, you got some ‘splainin’ to do!”

So, my friends, herewith the explanation and a bit of theology concerning our Lord’s Birth.

What I would like us to focus on is not the stein itself, nor on its intended use. Rather, let us consider the wagon and team of Clydesdales depicted on the stein. When I was in business school taking a course in organizational management, the professor shared with us the results of a test of the theory of synergy (which is just a fancy way of saying that sometimes one-plus-one equals more than two). This study was done somewhere in the British Isles. A team of Clydesdale horses like those which pull to Budweiser wagon was used. Each horse was tethered to a number of barrels and tested on how much weight it could pull. These individual totals were duly recorded as well as the overall total weight. The team was then harnessed together, and the same process repeated. The weight of the barrels the team pulled was recorded. The weight the team pulled was 25% more than the total weight the individual horses pulled earlier. So, aha!, the theory of synergy was demonstrated.

The really interesting thing about the study was that the team of horses that were used was an “in tact” team. That means they had pulled things together for a long time. They knew each other. They trusted each other. They were used to working with each other. They were, in short, a team – not just a group of horses tethered together.
This is a vital point when discussing the meaning of synergy. In fact, it is the point. A team is more than just a group of individuals. A team is a well functioning, synergistic unit. Pulling you and me and every human being together into just such a team is one way of understanding what God was up to in the Incarnation, in the birth, life, death, resurrection, and ascension of Jesus of Nazareth.

What triggered my thoughts in this regard is this evening’s reading from the Prophet Isaiah and the way it seemed to point to something Jesus said which we find reported in the Gospel according to Matthew. Listen again to these words from the Prophet:

The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light;
those who lived in a land of deep darkness – on them light has shined.
You have multiplied the nation, you have increased its joy;
they rejoice before you as with joy at the harvest,
as people exult when dividing plunder.
For the yoke of their burden, and the bar across their shoulders,
the rod of their oppressor,
you have broken as on the day of Midian.
And how was this done? How did God break the yoke of burden, the bar across his people’s shoulders? Through the birth of this Child, for as the Prophet continues:
For a child has been born for us, a son given to us;
authority rests upon his shoulders; and he is named
Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,
Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.

The yoke of burden upon God’s people’s shoulders was broken when another yoke, the yoke of authority, was laid upon his Child’s shoulders.

Of course, the yoke referred to in these Biblical analogies is the sort used with oxen which does go across the shoulders of the animal. But horses are also yoked! When a team of horses is tethered together, the tack used is very complicated – each horse is fitted with a “harness collar”, a bridle, a bit and several other pieces of equipment, and then each pair of horses is linked together with a “neck yoke”. After that, each pair is then put in place and the neck yoke attached to the tongue or pole of the horse-drawn vehicle, like Budweiser’s delivery wagon.

Now, as I said, the yoke mentioned in Isaiah seems to point us to something that Jesus said in the Gospel according to Matthew. In 11th Chapter, speaking to the people of Capernaum and to us, Jesus says:

Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.

Jesus does not offer us a yoke in the same way that a farmer offers a yoke to an ox or a teamster offers the harness and neck yoke to his horses. Jesus is not offering to put on us something which he himself does not share. As with the pair of oxen yoked together, or a team of horses harnessed together, when we take upon ourselves the yoke of Christ Jesus becomes our “yokefellow”, a partner of infinite strength capable of carrying the entire burden himself. The burden is light because he shares it with us, we with him, and all of us with one another.

As that synergy test demonstrated, a yoke allows the strength of two or more animals to be linked and multiplied, sharing and reducing the heavy labor of the plow or wagon. A burden that might be overwhelming or perhaps impossible for one to bear can be equitably and comfortably borne by two or more bound together with a common yoke or harness. Christ’s yoke requires a great and earnest effort, but for those who truly are converted, his yoke is easy … and yoked together with him and with each other like an “in tact” team our burdens become light.

When horses are tethered in a team such as that shown on the Budweiser stein, the horse on the left of the front pair is called “the lead horse.” That’s the horse who is guided by the driver or “teamster” through the use of the reins; the other horses follow that “lead horse”, the lead horse gives them direction. When we accept Christ’s yoke, when we let him be our “yokefellow,” Jesus not only shares our burdens, he gives us direction. This is what the Incarnation means to us; this is what the Birth of Christ accomplishes. As Isaiah said in another place, “a little child shall lead them.” (Isa. 11:10)

I can’t think of horses and horse-drawn wagons without thinking of the “wild West” and I can’t think of the wild West without thinking of 19th Century author Bret Harte. His short-story The Luck of Roaring Camp is not a Christmas story, per se, but it has always spoken to me of the Nativity.

The Roaring Camp of the story’s title is described as the meanest, toughest mining town in all of the West. There were more murders and more thefts there than anywhere else. It was a terrible place inhabited entirely by men, and one woman who tried to serve them all in the town’s only saloon. Her name was Cherokee Sal and as the story begins, she dies while giving birth to a baby.

Well, the men take the baby and put him in a box with some old rags under him, but when they look at this, they decide it just isn’t right, so they take up a collection – each miner is allowed into Cherokee Sal’s cabin to see the baby and, like the three wisemen who will visit the Baby Jesus, each leaves a gift. The author says they left such things as “a golden spur; a silver teaspoon …. a Bank of England note for £5, and about $200 in loose gold and silver coin.” Then one of the men travels eighty miles to Sacramento to buy a rosewood cradle. He brings it back, and they put the rags and the baby into it. And, of course, the rags don’t look right there. So they send another of their number to Sacramento, and he comes back with some beautiful silk and lace blankets. And they put the baby, wrapped around with those blankets, in the rosewood cradle.

It looks fine until someone notices that the floor of the cabin is filthy. So these hardened, tough men get down on their hands and knees, and with their hardened and horny hands they scrub that floor until it shines. Of course, what that does is make the walls and the ceiling and the dirty windows without curtains look absolutely terrible. So they wash down the walls and the ceiling, and they put curtains at the windows. Now things begin to look as they think they should look. Then they realize they have to give up a lot of their fighting, because the baby sleeps a lot, and babies can’t sleep during a brawl. So the whole temperament of Roaring Camp softens.

As the story goes on, the men take the baby out to their mine and set him by the entrance in his rosewood cradle so they can see him when they came up. Of course, the noticed what a dirty place the mine entrance is, so they plant flowers and they made a very nice garden there. It becomes quite beautiful. They bring the baby shiny little stones and things that they find in the mine, but when they would put their hands down next to his, their hands looked so dirty. Pretty soon the general store sells out of soap and shaving gear and perfume and those sorts of things. In the story, a miner in the competing camp of Red Dog says, “They’ve a street up there in ‘Roaring,’ that would lay over any street in Red Dog. They’ve got vines and flowers round their houses, and they wash themselves twice a day!” Well, the point is that baby changed everything.

That’s what happened on that first Christmas. The Baby changed everything. Rough shepherds came in awe to gaze upon the child. Noble kings bowed like servants. History stopped and began anew. Life changed direction. Christ changes everything! He makes the old new, the gruff gentle, the hopeless hopeful. He gives everyone and everything a brand new start, a new direction to any life. He changes everything! That’s what can happen at Christmas for each of us when we allow Christ to take away the yoke of burden and oppression in exchange for his yoke, the yoke of love and freedom. Instead of wandering alone, shouldering our own burdens, we are given the gift of being an “in tact” team each member bearing a lesser load and having a God- given direction.

I must tell you that I was really pleased with myself standing in the Budweiser souvenir store holding this beer stein and putting together this Nativity and “yoke of Christ” connection. I was convinced it was a new take the story of the Incarnation. Of course, being a conscientious preacher I wouldn’t put together a sermon without doing a little bit of theological research. So that’s what I did when we came home from St. Louis. Guess what I found….

Back in the Fifth Century, a bishop of Rome made that same connection! St. Leo the Great concluded one of his Christmas Sermons with these words:

[Christ], placing within us the nature of His own gentleness and humility, begins in us that power whereby He has redeemed us, as the Lord Himself promises: Come to me, all you that labor, and are burdened, and I will refresh you. Take up my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am meek, and humble of heart; and you shall find rest for your souls (Matthew XI:28-29).

Let us therefore take upon us His not heavy or bitter yoke of truth, and let us be like unto Him in simplicity of heart, in Whose Glory we desire to share, He also helping us and guiding us towards the fulfillment of His own promises, Who, according to His great mercy, is powerful to wipe out our sins, and bring to perfection in each of us His own gifts, Jesus Christ our Lord, Who lives and reigns world with out end. Amen. (Sermon 23)

In a little while this evening, Keni Hansen, one of our choristers will thrill us with that lovely Christmas hymn O Holy Night in which the same connection is made! In my research, I learned that the English words were written by John Sullivan Dwight, a Unitarian minister, but the music was originally written in 1847 for a poem by French writer Placide Cappeau entitled Minuit, Chretiens (“Midnight, Christians”). In Cappeau’s poem, the last verse includes this line, “Love unites those that iron had chained.” So the French poet made the same connection: Christ’s birth unites us in the yoke of love and freedom who before were bound by the iron chains, the hard yoke of burden and oppression.

I also learned that in 1902 an English playwright named Laurence Housman published a piece for the stage entitled Bethlehem: A Nativity Play in which the shepherds recite these lines:

Son of God, shine on us !
Lamb of God, look on us !
Shepherd of men, set Thy sign on us
And lay Thy yoke on us !
And we will be thankful.

So, I have to admit that making the theological connection between the Nativity and Christ’s invitation to take his yoke upon us isn’t all that original. …. But illustrating it with a beer stein probably is! And so I hope that the next time you have a beer, or the next time you see a Budweiser ad, or a team of horses, or just a single Clydesdale, you’ll remember this stein and remember this Christmas message and give thanks for the Baby who came to share our burdens, to be our yokefellow, and to give direction to our lives.

Truly He taught us to love one another;
His law is love and His gospel is peace.
Chains shall He break for the slave is our brother;
And in His name all oppression shall cease. Amen.

Whoever Is Not Against Us Is With Us

September 28, 2009 / / 0 Comments

Proper 21 (RCL): Esther 7:1-6, 9-10; 9:20-22, and Mark 9:38-50

They were brought here as slaves. Our ancestors captured them and brought them to this country and put them to work, gave them new lives. Eventually they were allowed freedom and permitted to become part of the general populace, to become educated, to participate in the social and political life of the nation. Many of them became wealthy merchants and business leaders, and some of them even rose to national prominence, becoming important in government. But let’s face it! They were slaves! They aren’t really like us! And now one of them is at the very center of national power.

Queen Esther by Edwin Long, National Gallery of Australia

Queen Esther by Edwin Long, National Gallery of Australia

The Book of Esther is a parable for today, but I’m at something of a loss to explain why a short portion of it drops out of the blue into our lectionary today. We haven’t been reading from it during the past few weeks and we won’t read from it again in coming weeks. I could understand this one-time shot of Esther if we were in, say, the month of March. Then we might be acknowledging our solidarity with our Jewish brothers and sisters. As we heard in the lesson, they were enjoined to have a holiday on the 14th and 15th of Adar, and they still do to this day. The holiday of Purim, the most joyous in Jewish calendar, celebrates the salvation of the Jews related in Esther’s story. But the middle of the month of Adar usually falls in March in our calendar. So solidarity with modern Jews can’t be the reason we here this bit of Esther today.

Let’s consider the whole story of Esther and maybe that can help us figure this out.

Remember that the leading citizens of Israel had been taken captive and transported as slaves to the Persian empire. Most had been resettled near the capital, near modern Tehran, but many had been resettled throughout the provinces of Persian. They had become a part of the society. Many were merchants, some had entered into the king’s government service, a few had risen to high rank. One, Mordecai, was an advisor to King Xerxes (called Ahasuerus in our reading today).

Xerxes was in need of a queen. His former wife, Vashti, had been disrespectful and disobedient, so he had divorced her and exiled her. So the King ordered a search for a new queen. All of the marriageable young women were to be brought before him to show off their comeliness and their talents in a sort of beauty pageant.

Mordecai’s orphaned cousin was Esther, a lovely young woman, whom no one knew to be a Jew. Mordecai arranged for her to take part in the king’s pageant and (guess what?) she won. She became queen of Persia.

Now Mordecai had run afoul of another government minister named Haman – Haman hated the Jews! All that ranting I did at the beginning of this sermon … that was Haman’s opinion of the Jews of Persia (though you might have thought it something else).

As far as Haman was concerned the Jews were so different … They looked different. Their skin color was different. Their facial structure was different. They had a different God (although God isn’t mentioned at all in the Book of Esther). They had different customs and traditions. They kept a different calendar. They had different holidays. They did strange things to their baby boys. … They were so different they had to be dealt with in a decisive way. So Haman came up with a plan.

Haman obtained the King’s seal; he was given supreme authority over the empire. So he sent out letters using the seal to the provincial governors and the leaders of the cities. The letters ordered that on a particular day at a particular time, all of the Jews were to be rounded up and killed. Mordecai learned of this plan and contacted Queen Esther so that she would ask the king to countermand Haman’s orders.

Esther decided to deal with the situation in this way: she invited the king and Haman to her apartments in the royal palace for a banquet. It must have been quite a feast for, as our lesson tells us, the king and Haman were still drinking wine on the second day! That’s when Xerxes told her she could have anything she requested. And so, she told him about Haman’s plan and asked for the lives of her people. The king granted her petition and, not only that, decided to hang Haman for this treachery. Haman had erected a tall gallows outside his home where he intended to hang Mordecai … but he ended up being hanged on it himself.

So here we have this story set side by side with a story from the Gospel of Mark in which John, typical of the disciples, doesn’t quite understand what the Good News is all about. Remember that John and his brother James had asked for the thrones of power in Jesus’ kingdom, but Jesus had used their request to teach about the overturning of society – that the first would be last and the last, first, and that the leader must be the servant. Now John, still thinking in terms of power and status, wants to hoard the healing authority he and the others have through Jesus. There’s someone else casting out demons and he wants them stopped. He couldn’t do it himself, so he asks Jesus to do so.

But Jesus won’t. “Whoever is not against us is with us,” says Jesus. John, like Haman, wants to exclude the outsider. John, like Haman, wants to draw a small, narrow circle with the insiders inside and those who are different left out. But Jesus won’t permit that. Jesus draws a wide and encompassing circle that includes anyone who does not specifically and intentionally put themselves outside of it. “Whoever is not against us is with us.”

And then Jesus goes on with all this disturbing talk of cutting off hands and feet, plucking out eyes. What on earth is that all about? Well, it’s metaphorical language for those attitudes and actions of exclusion that we all, unfortunately, share with John and Haman.

Has anyone ever done this to you (putting up a hand as if blocking passage)? “Talk to the hand!” “Keep out!” “Stand back!” Or have you ever been “kicked out” of some place or some group? Have you ever put up your to hand block someone … or used your foot to kick someone out? “No, no,” says Jesus. Better get rid of that blocking hand, that kicking-out foot … there is no place for exclusion in God’s kingdom. “Whoever is not against us is with us.”

In Jesus’ and John’s time people believed in the “evil eye”. They believed that a certain look could curse someone, and that was another way to deal with those who were different, to keep them away from the insiders.

So what Jesus is saying is … if you (like Haman, like John) have any attitudes, any actions, any habits that exclude others, that push them away, that kick them out, that see them as outside the circle, get rid of those attitudes, actions and habits. The circle is drawn wide. “Whoever is not against us is with us.”

And that’s why we got that bit of Esther today. A story of exclusion, a story of the worst way of relating to the outsider, to those who are different in some way, set side-by-side with Jesus’ circle of inclusion. A story of violence contrasted with an injunction to peace. Our Gospel lesson concludes as Jesus says to everyone within his ever-widening circle, “Be at peace with one another.” Despite all that may be different among us, unless we intentionally exclude ourselves, we are all within Jesus’ circle; be at peace with one another. Amen.

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