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Good God, Do Easter! – From the Daily Office – December 16, 2012

December 16, 2012 / eric / 1 Comment

From the Prophet Isaiah:

All hands will be feeble,
and every human heart will fail,
and they will be dismayed.
Pangs and agony will seize them;
they will be in anguish like a woman in labor.
They will look aghast at one another;
their faces will be aflame.

(From the Daily Office Lectionary – Isaiah 13:7-8 (NRSV) – December 16, 2012.)

Angel of grief, a 1894 sculpture by William Wetmore Story Today is the Third Sunday of Advent; in the tradition of the church it is known as Gaudete Sunday, Latin for “Rejoicing Sunday” so named because of the medieval introit to the Mass, “Gaudete in Domino semper: iterum dico, gaudete”, St. Paul’s words in the Letter to the Philippians, “Rejoice in the Lord always: again I say rejoice.” (4:4) (A reading from that very portion of Paul’s letter is this year’s epistle lesson for the Eucharist today; we will hear and consider those words at church this morning.)

But on Friday, at the Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown, Connecticut, twenty children and six of their teachers were gunned down by a 20-year-old man wielding two semi-automatic assault weapons. Before entering the school, if reports have been correct, he murdered his mother, and after killing the children, he shot himself. In the face of such insanity, how does one rejoice? Isaiah’s words of feebleness and failure, pangs and agony, anguish and faces aflame seem somehow so much more appropriate than Paul’s admonition to rejoice.

On Friday, following those tragic events, the Episcopal Peace Fellowship published this poem by Old Testament scholar Walter Brueggemann on its Facebook page. Entitled Grieving Our Lost Children, I offer it again here:

Another brutality,
another school killing,
another grief beyond telling . . .
and loss . . .
in Colorado,
in Wisconsin,
among the Amish
in Virginia.
Where next? (In Connecticut)

We are reduced to weeping silence,
even as we breed a violent culture,
even as we kill the sons and daughters of our “enemies,”
even as we fail to live and cherish and respect
the forgotten of our common life.

There is no joy among us as we empty our schoolhouses;
there is no health among us as we move in fear and bottomless anxiety;
there is little hope among us as we fall helpless before
the gunshot and the shriek and the blood and the panic: we pray to you only because we do not know what else to do.
So we pray, move powerfully in our body politic,
move us toward peaceableness
that does not want to hurt or to kill,
move us toward justice
that the troubled and the forgotten may know mercy,
move use toward forgiveness that we
may escape the trap of revenge.

Empower us to turn our weapons to acts of mercy,
to turn our missiles to gestures of friendship,
to turn our bombs to policies of reconciliation;
and while we are turning,
hear our sadness,
our loss,
our bitterness.

We dare to pray our needfulness to you because you have been there on that
gray Friday,
and watched your own Son be murdered
for “reasons of state.”

Good God, do Easter!
Here and among these families,
here and in all our places of brutality.

Move our Easter grief now . . .
without too much innocence –
to your Sunday joy.
We pray in the one crucified and risen
who is our Lord and Savior.

Good God, do Easter! It may be Advent. We may be getting ready for Christmas. But our hands are feeble; our hearts will fail; we are dismayed; our faces are aflame. Please God, do Easter!

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Father Funston is the rector of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Medina, Ohio.

Christmas Shopping with Peter – From the Daily Office – December 15, 2012

December 15, 2012 / eric / 0 Comments

The following meditation was prepared before the news of yesterday’s tragic events in Newtown, Connecticut. I pray for the repose of the souls of all those who died and for comfort for their families, and I pray that this nation will come to its senses and enact reasonable and effective gun control legislation.

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From Luke’s Gospel:

Jesus said, “Simon, Simon, listen! Satan has demanded to sift all of you like wheat, but I have prayed for you that your own faith may not fail; and you, when once you have turned back, strengthen your brothers.” And he said to him, “Lord, I am ready to go with you to prison and to death!” Jesus said, “I tell you, Peter, the cock will not crow this day, until you have denied three times that you know me.”

(From the Daily Office Lectionary – Luke 22:21-24 (NRSV) – December 15, 2012.)

Holiday Shopping at the Mall This is the part of the Maundy Thursday – Good Friday story that breaks my heart! I so identify with Peter; he’s such a bumbling fool on so many occasions and Jesus just keeps on holding him close, knowing that eventually he will pull through. I know that I would have done no better than Peter in those dark hours of Thursday night. I might not even have done as well as he did; I’m not sure I’d have had the courage to follow Jesus into the high priest’s courtyard!

And now, during this season of Advent, do I do any better? The world around us is going mad with consumption. The malls are filled with shoppers buying garbage to give to people they probably don’t really like who probably don’t really want what they are buying and will probably return it or “regift” it. And I’m right out there with them – although so far I haven’t bought anything. I can’t, for the life of me, figure out what my wife or kids or friends would want to receive from me as a gift. Can I just tell them I love them and leave it at that? Can I just tell Jesus that?

I don’t. I go to the shopping centers and try to find that perfect gift for each family member; I seldom do and often end up getting nothing for anyone and feeling guilty about that in the end. Meanwhile, I melt into the crowd and wander the mall and drive the crowded streets and, just like Peter, I look like one of them. I emulate Peter and do not open my mouth. His accent gave him away as a Galilean — I might inadvertently hold forth with the cadences of the Book of Common Prayer or make some reference to orthodox theology and give myself away as a Christian, a follower of Jesus rather than a minion of Santa Claus. By my failure to say “Enough!” and fight against the commercial Christmas consumption madness, the avalanche of advertising that has annihilated Advent, I have denied Christ many more times than Peter ever did.

But I know what Peter did not yet know, that even my denial will not separate me from my Lord, that even shamed by my denial as I am, I can return to him and I will be received, welcomed, forgiven. And so today, after a Saturday of shopping surrounded by the crass commercialism of secular Christmas, blinded by holiday lights, deafened by the roar of the shopping crowd and the public address systems blaring Winter Wonderland, a Saturday spent joining Peter in silence and denial, I am still able to pray the evening Psalm –

Send out your light and your truth, that they may lead me,
and bring me to your holy hill and to your dwelling;
That I may go to the altar of God, to the God of my joy and gladness;
and on the harp I will give thanks to you, O God my God.

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Father Funston is the rector of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Medina, Ohio.

You Know, Sweetie, Jesus Did Grow Up – From the Daily Office – December 14, 2012

December 14, 2012 / eric / 0 Comments

From Luke’s Gospel:

When the hour came, Jesus took his place at the table, and the apostles with him. He said to them, “I have eagerly desired to eat this Passover with you before I suffer; for I tell you, I will not eat it until it is fulfilled in the kingdom of God.” Then he took a cup, and after giving thanks he said, “Take this and divide it among yourselves; for I tell you that from now on I will not drink of the fruit of the vine until the kingdom of God comes.” Then he took a loaf of bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it and gave it to them, saying, “This is my body, which is given for you. Do this in remembrance of me.” And he did the same with the cup after supper, saying, “This cup that is poured out for you is the new covenant in my blood.”

(From the Daily Office Lectionary – Luke 22:14-20 (NRSV) – December 14, 2012.)

Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby Prayer Scene In ten days we will begin our celebration of his birth, but the Daily Office lectionary today has us consider his last meal on the night before his death . . . .

When our son was born, my wife and I designed our own announcements. On the front we put a quotation from poet Carl Sandburg’s only novel: “A baby is God’s opinion that life should go on.” The birth of a baby is a marvelous event, a hopeful one, an occurrence that focuses on the future. During Advent the secular commercial world, buying into a certain sentimental spirituality, when it isn’t focused on the legend of Santa Claus, constantly reminds us that we are getting ready to celebrate the birth of a cherubic, rosy-cheeked baby. For some, it is difficult to move beyond that icon of hopefulness, that image of God’s opinion of continuation.

In the movie Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby, the title character, played by Will Ferrell, is one of those. When the family gathers for a Thanksgiving meal, he offers a grace addressed to the Christmas cherub and a conversation ensues:

Ricky Bobby: Dear Lord baby Jesus, we thank you so much for this bountiful harvest of Domino’s, KFC, and the always delicious Taco Bell. I just want to take time to say “Thank you” for my family – my two sons, Walker, and Texas Ranger, or TR as we call him. And of course my red-hot smokin’ wife Carley, who is a stone cold fox. Dear tiny infant Jesus…

Carley Bobby: Hey, um… you know, Sweetie, Jesus did grow up. You don’t always have to call him “baby”. It’s a bit odd and off-puttin’ to pray to a baby.

Ricky Bobby: Well look, I like the Christmas Jesus best, and I’m sayin’ grace. When you say grace, you can say it to grown-up Jesus, or teenage Jesus, or bearded Jesus, or whatever you want.

Today’s gospel lesson reminds us, in the midst of our Christmas preparations, “You know, Sweetie, Jesus did grow up.” He lived the life of an itinerant preacher; he challenged the authorities; he was crucified; he died; he was buried; he rose from the dead; he ascended into heaven. On the night before he died, he had this meal with his friends. In her book The Spirituality of Bread (Northstone:2007, p. 146), Donna Sinclair writes, “The re-enactment of Jesus’ last conversation with his friends says that those who share a meal with the compassionate one can become just and brave agents of healing. Such bread offers the hope of human change. That’s why, over and over, I form a circle with my friends and say the words, ‘The bread of new life . . .'”

Advent prepares us to witness once again that baby whose birth was God’s opinion that not only should life go on, it should be redeemed. Advent prepares us for the return of the One who grew up and gave himself that life might be changed.

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Father Funston is the rector of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Medina, Ohio.

The Water Bearer – From the Daily Office – December 13, 2012

December 13, 2012 / eric / 0 Comments

From Luke’s Gospel:

Then came the day of Unleavened Bread, on which the Passover lamb had to be sacrificed. So Jesus sent Peter and John, saying, “Go and prepare the Passover meal for us that we may eat it.” They asked him, “Where do you want us to make preparations for it?” “Listen,” he said to them, “when you have entered the city, a man carrying a jar of water will meet you; follow him into the house he enters and say to the owner of the house, ‘The teacher asks you, “Where is the guest room, where I may eat the Passover with my disciples?”‘ He will show you a large room upstairs, already furnished. Make preparations for us there.” So they went and found everything as he had told them; and they prepared the Passover meal.

(From the Daily Office Lectionary – Luke 22:7-13 (NRSV) – December 13, 2012.)

This, of course, is the familiar story of the preparation for the Last Supper, the supper in the Upper Room where so much of the story of Jesus’ last days and of the church’s first days takes place. Reading it again today I have noticed the little remarked “man carrying a jar of water.” From time to time in Holy Scripture we meet these people, sometimes named (especially in Paul’s letters), sometimes anonymous, about whom we are told very little, but who play important roles. This water bearer is a pivotal character in this story; without him Peter and John would be unable to find the place which would become so important in the Christian story, the scene of the first eucharist, the place where the Resurrected Lord would appear to his friends, the location of the Pentecost event. And yet, we know nothing about him.

Whenever I read or hear a passage of Scripture about a water carrier, a water jar, or a clay pot, I cannot help but remember a folk tale from India, a story I’ve used as a sermon illustration on several occasions:

A water bearer had two large pots, each hung on each end of a pole which he carried across his neck. One of the pots had a crack in it, and while the other pot was perfect and always delivered a full portion of water at the end of the long walk from the stream to the master’s house, the cracked pot arrived only half full. For a full two years this went on daily, with the bearer delivering only one and a half pots full of water to his master’s house. Of course, the perfect pot was proud of its accomplishments, perfect to the end for which it was made. But the poor cracked pot was ashamed of its own imperfection, and miserable that it was able to accomplish only half of what it had been made to do.

After two years of what it perceived to be a bitter failure, it spoke to the water bearer one day by the stream. “I am ashamed of myself, and I want to apologize to you.”

“Why?” asked the bearer. “What are you ashamed of?”

“I have been able, for these past two years, to deliver only half my load because this crack in my side causes water to leak out all the way back to your master’s house. Because of my flaws, you have to do all of this work, and you don’t get full value from your efforts,” the pot said.

The water bearer felt sorry for the old cracked pot, and in his compassion he said, “As we return to the master’s house, I want you to notice the beautiful flowers along the path.”

Indeed, as they went up the hill, the old cracked pot took notice of the sun warming the beautiful wild flowers on the side of the path, and this cheered it some. But at the end of the trail, it still felt bad because it had leaked out half its load, and so again it apologized to the bearer for its failure.

The bearer said to the pot, “Did you notice that there were flowers only on your side of your path, but not on the other pot’s side? That’s because I have always known about your flaw, and I took advantage of it. I planted flower seeds on your side of the path, and every day while we walk back from the stream, you’ve watered them. For two years I have been able to pick these beautiful flowers to decorate my master’s table. Without you being just the way you are, he would not have this beauty to grace his house.”

The cracked and leaking pot was unaware of its importance in the life of the water bearer. I wonder if the “man carrying a jar of water” in the story of the Last Supper was aware of his importance; did he even know the disciples were following him? Would he later say, “I took them to my master’s home where Jesus ate his last meal”? We can’t know since Luke tells us no more, but we can take an Advent lesson from his inclusion in this story.

The message of Advent, spoken by Jesus in the gospel lesson for its first Sunday, is “Be alert!” (Luke 21:36) Slow down and pay attention. Be aware of those around you, the unknown carriers of water jars, and more especially those for whom you may be the water bearer . . . or the water jar.

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Father Funston is the rector of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Medina, Ohio.

The Book of Life – From the Daily Office – December 12, 2012

December 12, 2012 / eric / 0 Comments

From John’s Gospel:

Each of them went home while Jesus went to the Mount of Olives. Early in the morning he came again to the temple. All the people came to him and he sat down and began to teach them. The scribes and the Pharisees brought a woman who had been caught in adultery; and making her stand before all of them, they said to him, “Teacher, this woman was caught in the very act of committing adultery. Now in the law Moses commanded us to stone such women. Now what do you say?” They said this to test him, so that they might have some charge to bring against him. Jesus bent down and wrote with his finger on the ground. When they kept on questioning him, he straightened up and said to them, “Let anyone among you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone at her.” And once again he bent down and wrote on the ground. When they heard it, they went away, one by one, beginning with the elders; and Jesus was left alone with the woman standing before him. Jesus straightened up and said to her, “Woman, where are they? Has no one condemned you?” She said, “No one, sir.” And Jesus said, “Neither do I condemn you. Go your way, and from now on do not sin again.”

(From the Daily Office Lectionary – John 7:53-8:11 (NRSV) – December 12, 2012.)

There is one ancient manuscript that adds that what Jesus wrote in the sand was “the sins of each of them,” but no others. Most scholars generally hold that we really don’t know what Jesus wrote. I think one of the more fascinating ideas is that Jesus was writing the names of those who were judging the woman.

If that is the case, Jesus’ doing so is another of his “prophetic actions” – deeds done as illustrations of a prophetic point. The probable reference is to Jeremiah 17:13. The NRSV translation of that verse is “O hope of Israel! O Lord! All who forsake you shall be put to shame; those who turn away from you shall be recorded in the underworld, for they have forsaken the fountain of living water, the Lord.” An alternative rendering from the King James version is “O Lord, the hope of Israel, all that forsake thee shall be ashamed , and they that depart from me shall be written in the earth, because they have forsaken the Lord, the fountain of living waters.” The Hebrew word translated in the first as “the underworld” and in the second as “the earth” is ‘erets, which can also be translated as “the ground.” Is Jesus, by writing their names in the ground immediately after calling for “anyone without sin” to cast the first stone, referring to Jeremiah’s warning?

It is only by happenstance that our Jewish friends are celebrating Chanukah this week. Among the many tradition of Chanukah is to greet one another, especially on the last of the eight days of the celebration, with the same greeting used at Yom Kippur: “May your name be written in the book of life.” The contrast between names of the forsaken written in the ground and names of the righteous written in the book of life underscores the Second Coming anticipation of Advent.

The book of life is not only a Jewish image. It is also seen in the Savior’s Second Coming as revealed to John of Patmos who saw “a new heaven and a new earth” and saw “the holy city, the new Jerusalem coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband.” (Rev. 21:1-2) The gates of that city, John saw, “will never be shut by day – and there will be no night there. People will bring into it the glory and the honor of the nations. But nothing unclean will enter it, nor anyone who practices abomination or falsehood, but only those who are written in the Lamb’s book of life.” (Rev. 21:25-27)

Advent is a time of reflection, a time to prepare, a time to make sure our names are not written on the ground but rather in the book of life, to focus on our own worthiness and not on the sins of others.

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Father Funston is the rector of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Medina, Ohio.

Lighten Up! – From the Daily Office – December 11, 2012

December 11, 2012 / eric / 0 Comments

From Luke’s Gospel:

Jesus said, “Be on guard so that your hearts are not weighed down with dissipation and drunkenness and the worries of this life, and that day does not catch you unexpectedly, like a trap. For it will come upon all who live on the face of the whole earth. Be alert at all times, praying that you may have the strength to escape all these things that will take place, and to stand before the Son of Man.”

(From the Daily Office Lectionary – Luke 21:34-36 (NRSV) – December 11, 2012.)

Don’t be “weighed down by dissipation and drunkenness.” I’m told that the Greek word translated as “dissipation”, kraipale, describes the headache that results from drinking too much wine; in other words, it describes a hangover.

When I read these words I immediately think “office party”. We don’t do those sorts of parties in the office where I currently work (I suspect very few church staffs do), but when I was a practicing trial lawyer . . . . ‘Tis the season for that sort of thing and here in the middle of it (we are about half way through Advent right now) Jesus tells us to knock it off. Negative experiences and tales of stupid and self-destructive behavior from such parties abound. That sort of thing, we know without Jesus telling us, weighs down one’s heart. But just to be sure we do understand, Jesus does warn us: drunkenness and its result and “the worries of this life” weighing down your heart, he warns, might make us miss things, like Judgment Day. Well, not miss it perhaps, but certainly be unprepared when it gets here.

I got to thinking about the opposite of a “heart weighed down” and realized that that would be “light-hearted.” According to the dictionaries, to be light-hearted is to be carefree and happy, to be known for a blithe spirit, to possess a merry blithesome nature. And I realized that this is not the currently accepted understanding of someone who self-identifies as “Christian”. A few years ago, David Kinnaman, president of the Barna research organization, published a book entitled unChristian: What a New Generation Really Thinks about Christianity… and Why It Matters (Baker:2007). In it he revealed that his organization’s findings are that modern young adults consider Christians to be judgmental, bigoted, sheltered, right-wingers, hypocritical, insincere, and uncaring. Not exactly adjectives suggesting light-heartedness.

And then last week Lutheran pastor David L. Hansen in Texas published an article about his experience listening to non-churchgoers explain why they don’t go to church: “The No. 1 thing that keeps people away from the church is the people who are in the church.” He went on to say, “It’s not that people outside the church have low expectations of Christians. It’s the opposite. They expect us to actually live out the things we proclaim on Sunday. They expect us to love our neighbor, care for the least of these and love our enemies.” (Why Don’t People Come to Church?)

Kinnaman and Hansen, I think, are simply demonstrating that we haven’t properly heard nor learned to live the message of Advent, the message of Jesus reported here by Luke. It’s really quite a simple message: “Lighten up!” Somehow, we just can’t quite seem to believe that that’s what Jesus meant, but I really think it is. Jesus wants us to be light-hearted; not weighed down by stupid and self-destructive behaviors. He wants us to be carefree and happy, and known by our blithe spirit: “I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.” (John 13:34-35)

It’s Advent! Don’t let your heart be weighed down stupid and self-destructive behavior! Don’t be weighed down by drunkenness and dissipation and worry! Don’t be weighed down by judgmentalism, bigotry, prejudice, hypocrisy, insincerity, or lack of caring! Don’t be weighed down! Lighten up!

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Father Funston is the rector of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Medina, Ohio.

Road Builders with God – From the Daily Office – December 10, 2012

December 10, 2012 / eric / 0 Comments

From the Psalms:

Show me your ways, O Lord,
and teach me your paths.
Lead me in your truth and teach me,
for you are the God of my salvation;
in you have I trusted all the day long.
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Gracious and upright is the Lord;
therefore he teaches sinners in his way.
He guides the humble in doing right
and teaches his way to the lowly.
All the paths of the Lord are love and faithfulness
to those who keep his covenant and his testimonies.

(From the Daily Office Lectionary – Psalm 25:3-4,7-9 (BCP Version) – December 10, 2012.)

Advent sometimes seems to be a season of mixed messages. We are preparing to celebrate the anniversary of the Messiah’s birth, so the focus at times seems to be joy and happiness, good times, family gatherings, all that sort of thing. But we are also preparing for the Second Coming, so the focus shifts to the end of time, the destruction of the world, wars and rumors of wars, a world in tumolt, turmoil, and tribulation, all that sort of thing. Mixed messages!

This week in yesterday’s Eucharistic lectionary we heard John at the River Jordan claiming to be the voice prophesied by Isaiah crying in the wilderness to make straight and level a roadway for God. If I read John’s message correctly, the obligation of preparing that pathway is ours. Then today we sing a Psalm acknowledging that we have not the vaguest idea where God’s path is, that we have no choice but to call upon God to show us the way to go. We are assured by the Psalm that God’s paths are “love and faithfulness to those who keep his covenant and his testimonies,” but the message of the Psalm is clear that we do not know and cannot find the route without God’s guidance.

So which is it? Are we supposed to go out and survey and prepare the road for God? Or do we wait upon the Lord to point out and teach the road to us? Mixed message!

Or is it? Process theologian C. Robert Mesle wrote, “The world is not the way God wants it to be. Unjust social structures do not reflect God’s vision for us. Poverty, hunger, and violence are not trials intentionally put into the world by God for our education. They are evils against which God is struggling and against which God calls us to struggle . . . . God can work in the world; but God can work in our world most effectively, most quickly, through us.” (Process Theology: A Basic Introduction, Chalice Press:1993, p. 79) God shows us the way; we build the path where God shows us.

Today in the Episcopal Church, we commemorate the 20th Century monk Thomas Merton. A prayer written by him speaks to me about our call to joint road building with God:

My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going. I do not see the road ahead of me. I cannot know for certain where it will end. Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think I am following your will does not mean that I am actually doing so. But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you. And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing. I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire. And I know that if I do this you will lead me by the right road, though I may know nothing about it. Therefore I will trust you always though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death. I will not fear, for you are ever with me, and you will never leave me to face my perils alone.

The message of Advent is not a mixed message; it is a clear message. God shows us the way; we build the path where God shows us. We are to be road builders with God.

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Father Funston is the rector of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Medina, Ohio.

What Is the Crying? – Sermon for Advent 2, Year C – December 9, 2012

December 9, 2012 / eric / 1 Comment

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This sermon was preached on Sunday, December 9, 2012, at St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Medina, Ohio, where Fr. Funston is rector.

(Revised Common Lectionary, Advent 2, Year C: Baruch 5:1-9; Canticle 16 (The Song of Zechariah, Benedictus Dominus Deus, Luke 1: 68-79); Philippians 1:3-11; and Luke 3:1-6. These lessons can be read at The Lectionary Page.)

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John the Baptist

What is the crying at Jordan?
Who hears, O God, the prophecy?
Dark is the season, dark our hearts
and shut to mystery.

Who then shall stir in this darkness,
prepare for joy in the winter night?
Mortal, in darkness we lie down, blindhearted,
seeing no light.

Lord, give us grace to awake us,
to see the branch that begins to bloom;
in great humility is hid all heaven
in a little room.

Now comes the day of salvation,
in joy and terror the Word is born!
God comes as gift into our lives;
oh let salvation dawn!

(Words: Carol Christopher Drake)

What is the crying at Jordan? What is the crying in New York? What is the crying at Arlington? What is the crying in Southern California? What is the crying at Checkpoint 18 outside of Kabul? What is the crying in Medina? What is that crying?

“Take off the garment of your sorrow and affliction,” wrote Baruch, “and put on forever the beauty of the glory from God.” This is a time and a season when we expect to leave behind our sorrows and our afflictions; we expect to feel happiness and joy, and if we don’t we feel guilty because that’s what your supposed to feel at Christmas, right? But the truth is that for many this is a time and a season when sorrow and affliction are felt most acutely. That crying is the voice of those feeling the cold hand of death and the emptiness of loss in this season of joy and celebration.

This is a time and a season when death and loss can and do really hit home. Nine days ago, a week ago Friday, we received word that Nancy Lawrence, a long-time, life-time member of this congregation had passed away. Even though her last several months of life were, frankly, awful and everyone who has known Nancy is relieved that she is no longer suffering, still any death is an occasion of sadness. For many this is a time and a season when sorrow and affliction are felt most acutely.

This past Friday, day before yesterday, I got word in the evening that Deborah Griffin Bly, a woman I’ve known and whose music I have enjoyed for seventeen years had died. She was one of the singing duet called “The Miserable Offenders” and it was she and her partner who introduced me to that exquisite piece of poetry and its musical setting, Hymn 69, in our hymnal. Deb and I were part of community of Anglicans online that extends around the world; through it we have had nearly a thousand mutual friends. For many this is a time and a season when sorrow and affliction are felt most acutely.

Thirteen years ago, on the longest night of the year, the winter solstice, December 21, my mother passed away. Losing a parent is one of life’s hardest lessons, and never a good prelude to Christmas, and every year after the joyous holiday is also a reminder of the most profound loss. For me, as for many, this is a time and a season when sorrow and affliction are felt most acutely.

And, yet, Baruch writes, “Take off the garment of your sorrow and affliction, and put on forever the beauty of the glory from God.”

In the current issue of the magazine The Christian Century, Lutheran pastor Peter Marty tells of preaching a Christmas Eve sermon in which he made “reference to a little boy in a rough section of Trenton, New Jersey, whose body was found stuffed in a bag under a fire escape.” At the conclusion of the service a woman “told [him] in the receiving line that mention of children being murdered had no place in a Christmas sermon. [She said,] ‘I will never set foot in this church again.'” (December 12, 2012, Vol. 129, No. 25, page 10) I don’t know if I would mention a murder in a Christmas sermon, but I think we all need to remember that for many this time of year is not a “holly, jolly” season.

As we get ready for whatever good times we anticipate, as we prepare to celebrate the Messiah’s birth, let’s remember that unless we see the shadow of the cross falling on the crib we are not seeing Christmas clearly. Jesus did not enter this world just to be a cute little baby; he grew up! He lived in a time of political turmoil in a land oppressed by the military might of the Roman Empire. He taught a subversive “good news” that offended both that Empire and the religious establishment of his own country which sought to appease it. His truth would lead to his arrest and he would suffer and die on a cross. That he did so and rose from the dead so that our sins might be forgiven and we might enter into the Kingdom of God is why Christmas is special. Christmas Eve might not be the time or place to make mention of the murder of children, but our time of preparing to appreciate Christmas is a time to appreciate the reality of death and suffering, the reality of sorrow and affliction.

Traditionally, on this Second Sunday of Advent (and again next week on the Third Sunday) we focus our attention on John the Baptist, the forerunner who was the voice crying in the wilderness. His was the voice crying at Jordan, “In the desert, make straight a pathway for our God.” We turned our attention toward John this morning by saying together the words of the song his father, the priest Zechariah, sang at his birth. It’s a great canticle, and I love its final words:

In the tender compassion of our God
the dawn from on high shall break upon us,
To shine on those who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death,
and to guide our feet into the way of peace.

They are words that speak especially to those for whom this is a time and a season when sorrow and affliction are felt most acutely.

They are also words that speak to and for all of us, because we all dwell in darkness and the shadow of death. At one time or another, we all, as that marvelous poem says, lie down in darkness, blind-hearted, seeing no light. At one time or another, we all, as the Psalmist so eloquently put it, walk through the valley of the shadow of death. But we need fear no evil for as John the Baptist, cried out at Jordan

Every valley shall be filled,
and every mountain and hill shall be made low,
and the crooked shall be made straight,
and the rough ways made smooth;
and all flesh shall see the salvation of God.

It is for and through those for whom this is a time and a season when sorrow and affliction are felt most acutely that the real meaning of Advent comes through. Only a very shallow and superficial understanding of the story of the Savior’s birth would lead us to think that the Christmas for which we prepare is only about happiness. Christmas is about real life – yes, it is about joy, but it is also about sorrow; yes, it is about birth, but it is also about death; yes, it is about redemption, but it is also about affliction. It is about God coming to us incarnate in Jesus to give us life, real life, and that abundantly. It is about Christ crucified, risen, and ascended returning for us in glory. When we realize this and are enabled to give thanks for the birth of Christ and to look forward to his triumphant return even in the midst of death and loss, even as we live with profound sorrow and affliction, it is then that the dawn from on high breaks upon us brings us. It is then that we harvest the “righteousness that comes through Jesus Christ;” it is then that we see salvation; it is then that we put on forever the beauty of the glory from God.

Let us pray:

O God of grace and glory, as we continue to prepare to celebrate the birth of our Savior, as we await his return in glory, we remember before you our loved ones departed. We thank you for giving them to us, their families and friends, to know and to love as companions on our earthly pilgrimage. In your boundless compassion, comfort us when we are overcome by sorrow and affliction. Give us faith to know that the valley of the shadow of death shall be filled, that your dawn will break upon us to guide our feet into the way of peace, so that in quiet confidence we may continue our course on earth, until, by your call, we shall see your salvation and be reunited with those who have gone before; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

Remembering My Friend Deb – From the Daily Office – December 9, 2012

December 9, 2012 / eric / 5 Comments

From the Psalms:

Hallelujah! Praise God in his holy temple;
praise him in the firmament of his power.
Praise him for his mighty acts;
praise him for his excellent greatness.
Praise him with the blast of the ram’s-horn;
praise him with lyre and harp.
Praise him with timbrel and dance;
praise him with strings and pipe.
Praise him with resounding cymbals;
praise him with loud-clanging cymbals.
Let everything that has breath
praise the Lord. Hallelujah!

(From the Daily Office Lectionary – Psalm 150 (BCP Version) – December 9, 2012.)

Deb's Facebook Profile Picture Day before yesterday, I had a pretty good day in my ministry as rector of my parish. An Episcopal Church Women event went very well; we all had fun in what we were doing. I got home in the late afternoon and took care of a couple of personal matters, called my wife about the possibility of a “date night,” and when she said “Yes” I made reservations for dinner. I took the dog for a walk and, after my wife got home from work, we went out to dinner at our favorite local restaurant. When we returned home, I turned on my computer, checked my email, took a look at Facebook . . . and learned that Deb, a long time friend, a singer of great skill, and an occasionally very funny woman had passed away. It more than ruined the day.

Here’s the thing about my friend . . . we had known one another for over 15 years, but we had never met. We first became acquainted on an email listserve called “Anglican”, an internet community of Anglicans and Episcopalians all around the world. That list migrated from server to server, grew, shrank, suffered from spats and “flame wars”, eventually a few of its participants left to form another community, a virtual pub called “Magdalen’s Rose and Compass”. Deb and I kept “running into each other” in these virtual venues.

Over the years I learned about Deb’s life, her love of her husband, her deep connection with her severely handicapped step-son, her own difficulties with emotional balance. She learned about my life. We corresponded privately by email and publicly we participated in the listserve discussions and shared each other’s posts on Facebook.

Deb’s voice is sounding in my ears as I write these words. A CD of her Advent and Christmas music, performed with her singing partner Ana, is playing. Her voice is silenced, but lives on in her recordings; I’m sure she is singing in the heavenly chorus now.

A lot of folks don’t understand virtual community. Especially people my age and older will (as my mother would have said) “pooh pooh” the idea that friendship, community, or real relationship can be fostered through what seems to be the impersonal medium of computer-connected-to-internet. I’m here to witness that it most definitely can; deep and lasting friendships, spiritual connections, real and permanent community.

All around the world this weekend, Deb’s good friends, people like me who knew her well and never met her, are praising God for the witness of her voice, singing along with her and Ana’s voices and their wonderful instrumentation of pipes, drums, cymbals, prayer bowls, strings, and you name it! “I’m gonna tell my Jesus ‘Howdy’ one of these days!” she and Ana are singing on the stereo right now. She’s gotten there before the rest of us – she’s told Jesus “Howdy!” and she’s praising God in his holy temple, in the firmament of his power. In our own poor and sad voices, the rest of us are joining along.

It is fitting that Deb passed on during Advent. It is the season when we all look forward to seeing that heavenly temple, to singing in that chorus of “angels and archangels and all the company of heaven.” The burial rite of our church reminds us in the preface to the Great Thanksgiving that to God’s People, “life is changed, not ended; and when our mortal body lies in death, there is prepared for us a dwelling place eternal in the heavens.” A prayer in the funeral service admonishes us to, in quiet confidence,”continue our course on earth, until, by [God’s] call, we are reunited with those who have gone before.” Deb’s friends won’t be all that quiet, however; we’ll sing along loudly with her music until we see her again . . . or for the first time.

Memory eternal, Deb! Rest in peace and rise in glory!

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Father Funston is the rector of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Medina, Ohio.

Jesus As Superman? – From the Daily Office – December 8, 2012

December 8, 2012 / eric / 0 Comments

From First Thessalonians:

The Lord himself, with a cry of command, with the archangel’s call and with the sound of God’s trumpet, will descend from heaven, and the dead in Christ will rise first. Then we who are alive, who are left, will be caught up in the clouds together with them to meet the Lord in the air; and so we will be with the Lord for ever.

(From the Daily Office Lectionary – 1 Thess. 4:16-17 (NRSV) – December 8, 2012.)

During this season of Advent, we are confronted with many visions of the end of time as we prepare for the Messiah’s return, and today we read a very popular one, a vision of the faithful flying through the sky in defiance of gravity to meet Jesus who is apparently swooping down like Superman! A vision of “the Rapture”!

OK. I have to admit . . . without a little study and background, I would have not the vaguest idea what Paul is talking about. Verse 16 makes perfect sense; it’s a description of the general resurrection. It’s fine. But verse 17? What is that all about? “We . . . will be caught up in the clouds . . . to meet the Lord in the air.” Say what? Is he really predicting Jesus as Superman?

Well, I let me assure you that I’m pretty sure that he’s not. I don’t believe he’s talking about “the Rapture” at all . . . in fact, I think Paul would have been appalled at the whole nonsensical, made-of-whole-cloth silliness that has become a mainstay of modern American conservative evangelical Christianity. That theology (if it can be called that) was cobbled together by an Irish clergyman named John Derby in the 19th Century from disparate and unrelated passages of Holy Scripture ripped from their contexts and stitched together with nothing. Paul would reject it out of hand.

What I think Paul’s use of “clouds” here is all about has to do with the glory of God. The Greek word is nephele. It is the same word used in the Septuagint (a Greek translation of the Hebrew Scriptures dating from the 3rd Century BCE) to describe the cloud into which Moses entered when he met with God; it is the same word used to describe the Shekinah, the pillar of cloud which led the Hebrews through the desert. In the New Testament, it is used in all of the Synoptic Gospels to describe the cloud which overshadowed Peter, James, and John when they witnessed Christ’s Transfiguration. So when Paul says that we will be “caught up in the clouds,” I believe he meant that we would be caught up into God’s Presence in the Shekinah, as were Moses, James, John, and Peter. What had been an experience of the Glory of God exclusive to them will be shared by all of us.

Which brings me to the end of the sentence where Paul avers that we shall “meet the Lord in the air.” Here the Greek is aer. As common a word as “air” is, it is suprising to find that aer appears only seven times in the New Testament, and while it is usually used simply to mean the atmosphere, one wonders if here Paul might have meant something else. In the Theological Dictionary of the New Testament: Abridged in One Volume (Eerdemans: 2003), one learns that in Greek philosophy the terms pneuma (“breath” or “spirit”), aer (“air”), and psyche (“soul” or “breath”) were “equated as the comprehensive life-principle that integrates all things.” (pg. 878) Because Paul does use pneuma much more frequently to mean “spirit” (either the spirit of a human or the Holy Spirit of God), it is an admitted stretch to suggest that he is here using aer as a synonym, but it’s at least something to think about. It certainly makes more sense to hear Paul predicting that we will enter into God’s glory and meet the Lord in spirit than to think he expected us all to fly up into the sky to meet Jesus swooping down like Superman over Metropolis!

During this season of Advent, we are confronted with many visions of the end of time as we prepare for the Messiah’s return, but I don’t really think that Paul intended us to believe that Jesus is going to return swooping through the sky like Superman! Really. I don’t.

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Father Funston is the rector of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Medina, Ohio.

That Which We Have Heard & Known

Page 93 of 130

Good God, Do Easter! – From the Daily Office – December 16, 2012

Christmas Shopping with Peter – From the Daily Office – December 15, 2012

You Know, Sweetie, Jesus Did Grow Up – From the Daily Office – December 14, 2012

The Water Bearer – From the Daily Office – December 13, 2012

The Book of Life – From the Daily Office – December 12, 2012

Lighten Up! – From the Daily Office – December 11, 2012

Road Builders with God – From the Daily Office – December 10, 2012

What Is the Crying? – Sermon for Advent 2, Year C – December 9, 2012

Remembering My Friend Deb – From the Daily Office – December 9, 2012

Jesus As Superman? – From the Daily Office – December 8, 2012

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