What Make You You?

 

The Eve of the Nativity

Not too long ago I read a little book about John Howland and Elizabeth Tilley, two passengers on The Mayflower.  John came over as an indentured servant but was freed because his sponsors didn’t survive the first winter.  Elizabeth was left orphaned as a teen when no one else in her family made it through to spring.  Eventually John and Tilley married, which is not at all surprising given only 50 some folk survived the early challenges. 

Why did I read this book?  Two reasons.  First, these two are my 10^th great-grandparents.  I maintain each of us is a descendant of a lot of interesting, perhaps even historic figures, but are unaware of our lineage.  And second, John nearly died in route to America.  Seems there was a terrible storm in the North Atlantic and the passengers were confined to below decks – a miserable experience in a dank, leaky, stinky, reeling vessel.  So John decided to go up on deck for some fresh air where a wave swept over The Mayflower and washed him into the frigid, raging waters.  By an act of providence, he was able to grab hold of a rope trailing from the ship, gain the attention of the crew, and get pulled back to safety.  So, I have this in my DNA! 

Reading the book got me to thinking about deep, unanswerable, existential questions.  If John Howland had not survived, not gone on to marry Elizabeth, and not fathered my 9^th great-grandmother, would I still be me?  Would I be here, only with a grip just slightly weaker?  Or might I not even exist at all?  Does anyone else even ponder such things before falling asleep at night?

Well, I needed answers and, in 2025, when you need answers, what do you do?  That’s right, you go to Google.  Here is what it told me:

[Every person is an] intricate biological puzzle that we are only beginning to fully understand.  From the microscopic world of DNA to the complex, neural networks in our brains, biological systems shape every aspect of who we are, from our physical traits to our personalities.  But while genetics and biology provide a blueprint, the experiences we go through – our upbringing, relationships, societal influences – play crucial roles in molding us.  So, what exactly makes you, well, you?  The answer is complex and multifaceted, and it lies at the intersection of biology, environment, and personal experience.

Biology.  Researchers have determined 99.1% of our DNA is the same as everyone else’s.  Less than 1% of your genetic makeup makes up all that makes you distinctive.  Environment.  Long ago, while reading about a field of study called Cultural Linguistics, I learned the language you are raised with has an influence on how your brain learns to processes input?  Experience.  Even if you share, say, a childhood moment with your siblings, your reaction to it differs, if only slightly, from theirs.  All of this is part of the rich stew making you you.   

We might want to ask if there is something more at work in us in addition to biology, environment, and experience.  Google asserts there is not.  And yet when my second daughter was born, I knew in an instant she was not a carbon copy of her older sister.  It was much deeper than appearance.  It had to do with temperament.  And each girl’s distinctive temperament at birth can’t be attributed neatly to biology, environment, or experience.  It is something more.  In my estimation, it is something… spiritual.

We are more than the products of nature and nurture – so much more.  What makes you unique?  In addition to your genetics, your cultural influences, and your experience, there is your spirit.  We get a glimpse of this when God calls Jeremiah to the prophetic ministry:

Before I formed you in the womb I knew you,

And before you were born I consecrated you;

  I appointed you as a prophet to the nations. ^1:5

Like Jeremiah, there is something about you – something spiritual – known to God long before biology and environment and experience begin to have their way with you.  And, just as with Jeremiah, this spiritual part is imbued by God with a purpose.  God has an intent for you which, though it may be similar to what God holds for others, it is yours and yours alone. 

We come here tonight to greet the baby Jesus.  St. Paul, recognizing the holy child’s unique purpose and intent, wrote this to the Church in Ephesus:

For God chose him before the foundation of the world to be holy and blameless. ^1:4 

Christ lived fully into God’s purpose and intent for him.  His witness begs us to ponder how and if we are living into ours.  Whatever smidgen of DNA you inherited from one of your 4,096 10^th great-grandparents, given all the ways our culture molds us, and beyond the vast experiences we have had (all of which contributes to what makes you you), you must come to terms with the reality you are spirit and your spirit is not product of nature or a consequence of nurture.  You are you because, like Jesus, God created you to be who you are and to do what you are supposed to do. 

I suspect Jesus spent a great deal of his formative years pondering who he was and what his purpose was to be.  Perhaps, this Christmas, you might set aside some time to muse about who you are and who you are called to be.  Perhaps you might consider how better to tend to that within you which is spirit.  And you might want to reflect on how biology, culture, and experience have helped you and how they have hindered you.

Are you lost?  God sent Jesus to find you. 

Are you confused, God sent Jesus to guide you. 

Are you tied in knots?  God sent Jesus to give you peace. 

Are adrift with no significant purpose in life?  God sent Jesus to call you to discipleship.

Are you filled with despair?  God sent Jesus to give you hope. 

Are you beaten down?  God sent Jesus to raise you up. 

Are you hurting?  God sent Jesus to heal you.

Are you crippled with self-loathing?  God sent Jesus to love you for who you are, just as you are.

Are you racked with fear?  God sent Jesus to give you faith.

Are you a slave to a passion or a vice?  God sent Jesus to set you free. 

Are you awash in a sea of sin?  God sent Jesus to save you. 

No wonder the world pauses tonight to celebrate the birth of this Child who is God’s precious gift to all.

There's a Light

 

Matthew 1:18-25

Advent 4 / Year A

I attended an Advent Retreat at Chanco last weekend where Angier Brock, our presenter, began our time by inviting us to think about how we mark time.  We live in what she calls “Empire Time” – twelve months, fifty-two weeks, 356 days.  We also live in what we might call “Nature Time” – four seasons, today being the beginning of a new one.  The Church, she noted, invites us to live in “Liturgical Time” – six seasons: Advent, Christmas, Epiphany, Lent, Easter, and the long season of Pentecost (or Ordinary Time). 

In Empire Time the New Year begins eleven days from now.  It encourages us to make resolutions and offers the opportunity for new beginnings.  In Liturgical Time, the New Year began three Sundays ago.  Advent does not begin with turning over a new leaf or setting a goal, like losing weight.  It begins with darkness.  In this sense, it meshes well with Nature Time in that the days have gotten shorter and literal darkness (the absence of sunlight) practically overwhelms our lives. 

Advent’s darkness offers us Scripture readings about God’s righteous judgment and the warnings of the prophets.  This, Angier said, is reflective of what she called the Via Negativa (or the Negative Way or Path).  The Church, in its wisdom, reminds us we cannot ignore the darkness in our world, in our lives, and in our hearts.  You cannot go through life without experiencing pain, suffering, loss, brokenness, regret, or sorrow.  Sometimes it can be crushing.  And the irony is the harder a person tries to avoid the darkness, the more it dominates that person’s spirit.

But, just as Advent calls us to face the Via Negativa, it points us toward what Angier calls the Via Positiva (the Positive Way).  It does this through the promise of a coming light; a shift we begin to sense in today’s Gospel reading of Matthew’s very lean story of Jesus’ birth. 

Bishop Susan was unable to be at our retreat, but she touched on many of the same themes in her Advent message to our diocese in which she cites this quote:

The Incarnation always brings good news, but it never minimizes the realness of our pain.  Advent declares the hope that a light is coming, but first it declares the truth that the world right now is very dark.

This time of year we live into another kind of time, let’s call it Cultural Time.  Our culture tells us what the ‘holiday season’ should look like and feel and how many shopping days are left before Christmas.  Cultural Time applauds the first part of that quote, “The Incarnation always brings good news.”  Everything is supposed to be merry and bright.  As such, Cultural Time disregards the darkness Advent beckons us to acknowledge. 

And yet, the holidays often find many of us walking the Via Negativa more intensely than at any other time of the year.  We think of the loved ones we have lost.  We long for cherished traditions and simpler times, even though it feels like they are becoming more elusive.  We hear holiday words like peace and joy and goodwill, then hold them up to our present reality.  No wonder so many of us experience despair as we measure how our life falls far short of the Hallmark Christmas we long for. 

It feels counterintuitive to assert by embracing the Via Negativa the Via Positiva begins to bud.  Still, this is why Advent begins with darkness and ends with the promised hope of a new light and new life.  And this process, Angier said, activates the Via Transformativa, (the path of transformation).  No one is ever changed by hiding from their pain and loss.  Healing comes only once you allow God to tend to what hurts. 

Last Wednesday we held our Longest Night Eucharist, sometimes referred to as a Blue Christmas service.  By design, it creates space for the Via Negativa, trusting by giving it its due we can more fully embrace the Via Positiva of the Nativity and all that surrounds it.  It takes a fair amount of courage to participate in this service, especially when your loses are fresh and your emotions are raw. 

When I reflect back over the years we have offered it, I remember when people attended because that Christmas was the first without a loved one.  It is not uncommon for them to weep through most of the service and a box of tissues became more necessary than a prayer book.  Over their years their loss has not go away, but it has become easier to bear.  Now, in addition to seeking comfort, these folks attend to support those whose loss is fresh.

They have walked by the Via Transformativa.  Their hearts have been strengthened enough to bear their pain and stretched enough to reach out to others with empathy and compassion.  It is such a beautiful image of Advent Time, of the movement from darkness to the hope of new light. 

Perhaps, Angier noted, nowhere is this movement better articulated than the Advent carol O come, O come Emmanuel:   

O come, O come Emmanuel and ransom captive Israel

  which morns in lonely exile here (the Via Negativa).

Rejoice!  Rejoice!  Emmanuel shall come to thee,

  O Israel (the Via Positiva).

My prayer for each of this Advent is we will find ourselves moving from darkness to light, from mourning to rejoicing.

There’s a light, there’s a light in the darkness

and the black of the night cannot harm us

We can trust not to fear for our comfort is near

There’s a light, there’s a light in the darkness

It will rain, it will rain in the desert

in the cracks of the plain, there’s a treasure

Like the thirst of the seed we will await, we believe

It will rain, it will rain in the desert

(from There’s a Light by Beth Nielson Chapman)

A Gentle Rain in the Desert

 

Isaiah 35:1-10

Advent 3 / Year A

In the fall of 2018, when Tom Coxe and I went with a group to the Holy Land, we walked along a path on the hills above the Wadi Qelt, a gulch created by a seasonal stream which begins in Jerusalem and winds it way down to Jericho and the Jordon River.  It is the setting for Jesus’ parable of the Good Samaritan where a traveler is accosted by bandits.  The only threat we faced was posed by local venders hocking goods for sale to tourists like us. 

At the time of our visit the rolling hills and deep ravines of this region were completely devoid of vegetation.  After being in the Holy Land for a few days, we had grown accustomed to landscape of nothing more than dust and stones – more stones than you could ever imagine (at least this was our reaction on the first initial days of our pilgrimage).  Many biblical passages refer to ‘the desert’ and now we were in it, or at least one part of one desolate land.  The barren and bleak nature of the Wadi Qelt is unforgettable.

Six months later, the Mottley’s went to the Holy Land and posted a picture from the Wadi Qelt – no doubt from the exact same spot Tom and I had been the previous fall.  Their visit fell just after the spring rains and what had been nothing but a dirt and rock-strewn landscape we were there was for them covered with red crocus, as if someone had carpeted the entire place.  These desert flowers have adapted to the harsh, arid environment and burst to life almost overnight, exploding in color after even a little moisture wets the ground.

The prophet Isaiah, speaking at a low point in his people’s history when tens of thousands have been taken captive and held in forced exile, draws on the image of the desert flower to proclaim a message of hope:

The wilderness and the dry land shall be glad,

the desert shall rejoice and blossom;

  like the crocus it shall blossom abundantly,

  and rejoice with joy and singing.

Why forecast this happiness?  Because, Isaiah proclaims with boldness, the exiles will return.  And not just return, return with singing on a “Holy Way” prepared by the Lord.  Unlike the Wadi Qelt, with its twists and turns and hidden dangers, the Lord’s path be so well laid out “not even a fool will go astray” (no GPS will be necessary!).  It will be free of danger; not even ravenous beasts will haunt it. 

Isaiah says God is going to restore all who have been broken and battered:

The eyes of the blind shall be opened,

the ears of the deaf unstopped;

  the lame shall leap like a deer,

  the tongue of the speechless sing for joy.

You can count on this, Isaiah says, just as surely as you can count of the desert breaking forth in bloom after a spring rain.

Isaiah proclaims this message to a people who have lost hope.  God directs him to “strengthen those with weak hands,” “make firm the knees of the feeble,” and encourage everyone who has a “fearful heart.”  His message from the Lord is this: “Everything we have endured and suffered is about to pass.  Just as the desert is transformed by the rain, so too will our lives be changed when the glory of the Lord appears.”   

Isaiah’s message uses a specific Hebrew word – naqam – to describe how God will act.  Various bibles translate this word as vengeance, vindication, or retribution.  The version we heard this morning puts it this way:

Here is your God.

He will come with vengeance,

  with terrible recompense.

  He will come and save you.

The inference is we are good, so we get rewarded.  They are bad, so they get punished. 

One biblical scholar, Hendrik Peels, argues persuasively that because the focus of Isaiah’s message is on liberation of the oppressed, a more accurate translation is God will come with “restorative justice.”  Walter Brueggemann, another scholar, notes we should remember the term vengeance has more than a negative connotation.  It promises “God will come to right wrong, to order chaos, to heal sickness, to restore life to its rightful order.”

Weak hands, feeble knees, and fearful hearts.  If only Isaiah had included aching backs, we might be tempted to believe he is speaking to us also.  In fact, he is.  God is always about the work of righting wrongs, bringing order, healing sickness, and restoring life… in our world, in our nation, and in our personal lives.  We all go through periods of desolation and dryness.  At times life can be overwhelming.  There is never a moment when “the desert” is not descriptive of some facet of our life… a relationship, your job, losing a sense of joy in what once made you happy.  God is about the work of bringing rain to the desert regions of our lives:  

For waters shall break forth in the wilderness,

and streams in the desert;

  the burning sand shall become a pool,

  and the thirsty ground springs of water.

Advent, as we have said, is a time of watching and waiting.  It is a season of hope; hope for the promised gentle rain God promises will fall in our hearts.  Then, like those of old ransomed by the Lord we too…

… shall return,

and come to Zion with singing;

  everlasting joy shall be upon our heads;

  We shall obtain joy and gladness,

  and sorrow and sighing shall flee away.

Repent!

 

Matthew 3:1-12

Advent 2 / Year A

How is your Christmas decorating coming along?  Mine, I think, is finished.  There was a time when my outdoor decorating varied from year to year.  Then, maybe seven or eight years ago, I took two table runners, fixed to them letters spelling our “Peace” and “Goodwill”, and hung them from my porch.  It was a time when our civic life as a nation seemed to be marked by anything but peace and goodwill, so I saw this as doing my part (humble though it may be) to call us back to a common life of charity and respect for one another.  It worked so well (more accurately… had no detectable effect whatsoever) that I have stayed with the banners ever since.

Peace and Goodwill are words you hear a lot this time of year.  Nobody wishes you a “merry” Labor Day weekend or says “Rejoice” on Groundhog’s Day, but these words are on our lips at Christmas.  I wonder what it would be like to put out banners (one a week) featuring specific Advent words and messages.  Based on last week’s reading, the first banner could read “Stay Awake.”  That would leave my neighbors scratching their heads.  Today’s banner would have to spell out “Repent.”  I doubt it would cause anyone to change their behavior, but most likely it would get me crossed off the invitation list to a holiday party or two.

Repent!  Folks today tend to think of the grime prophets of old as being gloomy predictors of the future.  They were not.  They were folks willing to stick out their necks by telling it like it is right here, right now.  They point fingers and name names.  Their messages tend to be either in the first or second person imperative… “You need to get your act together” and “Ya’ll must stop doing X right now.”  Truth-tellers like this rarely are welcomed with open arms.  And yet, because they speak God’s word, and because God’s dream for the human family doesn’t change, the message of the prophets, uncomfortable though it may be, still holds true.  Repent!  You, you, and you!  Us, each and every one, without exception! 

Jesus tells stories which get you to think.  They center on Samaritans and prodigals; on loving your neighbor and forgiving with open arms.  Prophets like John the Baptist are more pointed, more specific.  He demands tax collectors be honest.  He commands soldiers not to abuse their power.  He calls kings to account for their immorality.  He requires everyone who has abundance to share with those who lack.   Repentance is about good behavior, he says.  It is like being a fruit-bearing tree.  You can produce either good fruit or rotten.  And then John tells it plain: “Every farmer knows what happens to the tree which bears only bad fruit… it gets chopped down.” 

The biblical word for repentance is metania.  It literally means turning around, like when you are driving down a road, realize you are heading in the wrong direction, and make a U-turn.  In this sense, repentance is a positive, hopeful word.  To harken back to last week’s Advent word, it is a waking up, accurately perceiving what is amiss in your life, and then doing something about it.  John’s call to repentance affirms each of us has the ability to amend our lives, turn around, and get right what we have been doing wrong, perhaps for a long time.

John believes his message is preparing the way for the One who is to come.  He stands at the threshold of a New Covenant.  Like the first testament, his ethic springs forth from the Law… Do this… Don’t do that.  His focus is on behavior and actions.  He wants your life and mine to shining examples of goodness.  He wants the world to be a better place.  He invites those who respond to his message into the river to be baptized as a sign of personal repentance, of turning your life around.  This, he says, is how you prepare for what is to come.

And what is to come?  God’s Messiah who, he says, will baptize with the Holy Spirit and with fire.  It is not at all clear how clearly John understands what this will look like, but we are blessed because we experience it.  When the Holy Spirit is active in us, St. Paul says it produces the fruit of love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control. ^{Gal. 5:22-23}  Being baptized in Jesus is not merely about a change in behavior (the fruit of repentance), it is about a change in heart (the fruit of the Spirit).  Our deeds are no longer actions we know we are supposed to do, but grit our teeth while doing them, they emanate from our hearts which have been changed by being filled with the love of Christ.

So Repent is a good word for Advent.  It is a call to lead a better life, to be a better person.  But perhaps we need to add another banner with another word – Open.  Open your heart to Christ’s Spirit.  Be filled with It.  When this happens, no one has to tell you to do the right thing because it flows through and from you.  When you turn around, this is what you are turning toward.

Noticing God in the Here and Now

 

Matthew 24:36-44

Advent 1 / Year A

This past week I made my yearly pilgrimage to Wal-Mart for the sole purpose of staying (relatively) current on contemporary culture’s Christmas marketing.  Here is just a smattering of what I found:

·    Snoop (Dog) on the Stoop and Martha (Stewart) on the Mantle are taking on Elf on the Shelf.

·    And speaking of Elf on the Shelf, he (or it) is a part of a much bigger product line called Santaverse, from which you can purchase oodles of stuff, including an inflatable peppermint blimp.

·    While we are on things filled with air, our local retailor offers not one, not two, but 54 different outdoor holiday inflatables.  I recommend either the pink dinosaur or something called Bluey. 

·    Dwarfed by the hundreds of Disney, Barbie, and sports ornaments, I managed to locate the following decorative items: two styles of stars made out of tin, an angel, and a cheap gold-colored plastic depiction of the Holy Family.

I like to think of my annual trek as being an Advent preparation rooted in the spiritual value of watchfulness.  During this liturgical season we anticipate God is about to break into our world in some new way.  By watching and waiting we show ourselves faithful, but even more, we find ourselves better able to discover all the different ways God is already present, yet often unnoticed. 

Years ago I read a book which melded the insights of Christianity and Zen.  It posed two questions one needs to ponder if you want to discern God’s presence in your life: “What time is it?” and “Where are you?”  The answer to the first is, “Now!” while the answer to the second is, “Here!”

The late poet Jill Baumgaertner made this observation about the writing of Annie Dillard:

Her intense watchfulness, her ability to concentrate so fiercely that the impenetrable becomes apparent, dazzles readers so much that they allow her to move beyond description into exhortation.  We live in a daze, she says to us, and it is time to wake our sleeping senses so that we can see what has been there all along.

By being watchful in the here and now of life we begin to discover there are things present which can’t be explained purely in terms of science or rational analysis; things like Annie Dillard describes and spiritual people discern. 

Currently I am reading a book by Dacher Keltner titled simply Awe.  In it he asks this:  

How can we live the good life?  One enlivened by joy and community and meaning, that brings a sense of worth and belonging and strengthens the people and natural environment around us?  Now, after twenty years of teaching happiness, I have an answer:  FIND AWE.

Keltner defines awe as being “an emotion we experience when we encounter vast mysteries that we don’t understand” and he says it is our response to what he calls “the eight wonders of life”:

·     The strength, courage, and kindness we find in other people.

·     Collective movement, such as dance and sports.

·     Nature.

·     Music.

·     Art and visual design.

·     Mystical encounters.

·     Encountering life (like a child’s first steps) and death (such as the peaceful passing of a loved one).

·     Big ideas or epiphanies.

Notice, for us be aware of some of these experiences a choir of angels will appear singing “Glory to God in the highest.”  These are the big moments of Awe with a Capital A.  But most of Keltner’s list can be apprehended by knowing what time it is – now – and where you are – here.   Do this, he says, and we will find experiences of awe transforming us by “quieting the nagging, self-critical, overbearing, status conscious voice of our self and empowering us to collaborate, to open our minds to wonders, and to the deep patterns of life.”  In all of this hear Keltner articulating one of Advent’s deepest purposes: Be watchful.  Be expectant.

Now, I know this is a lot of lofty language, but let me share with you how one person, Douglas Burton-Christie, puts it into action:

“What did you notice today?” my three-year-old daughter, Julia, wants to know.  We have been playing a game lately of asking and trying to answer that simple question.  There are only two rules: you can’t say “nothing” (unless you don’t feel like playing), and you have to try to describe what you noticed, to say, “what it is like.” 

We started playing the game recently after Julia began attending preschool.  I realized that I did not know much about how she spent her days.  If I asked her what she did that day, I usually got a brief “report.”  This question did not seem to interest her much… So now we concentrate on the particular, on what has impressed itself on her senses.  I learn a lot more this way. 

One day she told me about looking up from the playground and seeing a flock of white birds flying overhead, sharp against the blue sky.  Another day it was the sting on her face of sand tossed by a rambunctious playmate that impressed her and remained with her until we met that evening.  Another day, she tells me of the sweet notes of a bird’s song floating down our chimney; is there a nest up there, she wonders?  Piece by piece, I learn about her world.  I am also learning about mine.

So, as we begin this season of Advent, I want to encourage you to think about where you are (here), what time it is (now), what it is you notice, and how God is present in all of it.  God is not so much about to break into your world as you are about to become more aware of how you live and move and have your being in God.

Tribute for our King

 

Luke 23:33-43

Proper 29 / Year C

Sir Austen Henry Layard was leading an excavation in present day Iraq in 1846 when the team made a significant discovery.  They unearthed a six-foot-tall obelisk made of black limestone with twenty different carved panels on its sides, each depicting a scene of military a conquest during the reign of Shalmaneser III, the King of Assyria for thirty-five years beginning in 859 BC.  In its day, the obelisk functioned like a cable news network does today – a 24/7 report to the masses on recent events of interest… with interpretive commentary in cuneiform script.

What makes this object relevant to us is one of the panels contains the earliest depiction of a Hebrew King: Jehu, who reigned over the Northern Kingdom of Israel for twenty-eight years beginning in 842.  In the panel Jehu is prostrate, face to the ground at the feet of Shalmaneser.  Behind him is a train of servants bearing gifts of various kinds for the Assyrian ruler.  These gifts are tribute, a common practice throughout the ancient Middle East in which conquered nations present money, precious metals, and expensive objects to their conqueror as symbols of submission and acknowledgment of his authority. 

Not all tributes are forced.  Some are voluntary, such as when the Queen of Sheba seeks an audience with King Solomon, whose wisdom is heralded throughout the region.  Her offering signifies honor and respect.  It is one of many examples of voluntary tribute recorded in the bible, the best known being the gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh given to the newborn King of the Jews by eastern magi.  It is a practice continued throughout history and even in our day when heads of state making official visits exchange gifts symbolic of their country and people.    

The Jewish sacrificial system has roots in the practice of tribute.  Various offerings are prescribed for certain yearly festivals; each signals an acknowledgment of God’s greatness (God’s majesty) and one’s own absolute dependence on what God’s reign and rule provide.  And the offerings cannot be any old thing one has lying around; it is to be the best of the best – the best lamb, the best bread, the first fruits of the harvest.  The gifts offered (as we say) must be fit for a king.

Jesus, through his life and death, turns the notion of tribute on its head.  Never once in his life does Jesus demand a tribute or gift.  Christ our King has not conquered us.  He has conquered sin and has set us free.  He is, as we heard in today’s gospel reading, a ruling King who pays tribute to death by offering himself on the Cross in order to vanquish death.

Every Sunday we enact something like a tribute when we collect our offerings and present them at the altar.  But Christ has transformed this practice because there is only one gift which is a sufficient to present.  In his hymn When I Survey the Wondrous Cross, Isaac Watts describes it this way:

Were the whole realm of nature mine,

  that were a preset far too small.

Love so amazing, so divine,

  demands my soul, my life, my all.

Christina Rossetti, in her carol In the Bleak Midwinter, comes to a similar conclusion:

What can I give him, poor as I am?

  if I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb.

If I were a Wise Man, I would do my part;

  yet what can I give him: I will give my heart.

Both describe a type of offering known as an oblation.  The prayer book describes this act as being “an offering of ourselves, our lives and labors, in union with Christ, for the purposes of God” ^{p. 857}.   The physical things we offer on Sunday morning – the bread, the wine, our treasure – represent our life and labor.  As we offer them to God we offer not just them, but all we are and all we have.  When we sing “Let there be peace on earth, and let it begin with me,” we are making an oblation, offering ourselves with a very specific intent: Use me, O Lord, to make the world more like the place You want it to be. 

And as God receives these oblations, the Holy Spirit does something amazing.  It falls on the bread and wine, transforming them into something more than bread and wine.  They become the Body and Blood of Christ – holy gifts which God offers to us.  And when we pray “may your Holy Spirit descend upon us” we ask to be sanctified, literally made saintly or saint-like; a people who set ourselves apart in order to be agents, working to manifest God’s dream for this world.

I am mindful of the powerful symbolic message which accompanies everything we present at the altar and I believe, in receiving it, God transforms it to be more than what we present in the same kind of way the offering of five loaves and two fish becomes enough to feed 5,000. 

I am especially glad this morning to add a new practice to our ritual.  Beginning today we will include in what we present an item or two donated to our feeding ministries.  At a practical level, they will serve to remind us of the opportunity we have to support our soon-to-be open again Food Pantry.  As an oblation they represent us and we trust God will use them to be and do more than we can ask or imagine.  

Our oblations speak of our relationship with God who we seek to honor through what we offer.  They reflect our belief Christ is our King and that we are committed to aligning ourselves with our Lord’s royal reign, giving all we have and all we are in witness to God’s goodness and love.

Risen with Healing in Its Wings

 

Malachi 4:1-2

Proper 28 / Year C

This morning’s first reading is taken from the Book of Malachi, the last of a series of twelve Old Testament writings known as the Minor Prophets.  Some background on its historical setting helps to put its message in context:

·       The Hebrew people exiled in Babylon for two generations return to Jerusalem in 539 BC.

·       Having been sacked back in 587 BC and left unattended, the Temple is in ruins and much of the city, including its walls, is in disrepair.

·       Through much hard work and sacrifice and thanks to the leadership of Haggai and Zechariah, the community is able to rededicate the Temple in 515.

·       After this, Ezra, a priest, and Nehemiah, the governor, marshal the effort needed to repair the walls and gates.

The people of Jerusalem are feeling pretty good about all they have accomplished and what they have become.  Into this moment steps Malachi, whose name which means “my messenger.”  And Malachi’s message, in a nutshell, is this: You have tended to the infrastructure of your city but have neglected the soul-structure of your community. 

The Book of Malachi contains six short sermons which comprise its message.  These are some of the themes they touch on:

·       The priests have failed the people by offering inferior worship, sacrificing blind and sickly animals rather than the best of the flock.

·       This same group has failed to provide the people with proper education and instruction.

·       Intermarriage, unfaithfulness, and divorce are rampant, which Malachi sees as being a metaphor of the people’s relationship with God as they dabble in the practices associated with foreign gods and cults.

·       The rich are exploiting workers and show no appreciable concern for the most vulnerable people in the society: widows, orphans, and refugees.

·       The people complain the wicked prosper while the righteous suffer and thus say religion is a waste of time, withholding their tithes to the Temple.

Malachi’s assessment is this: God judges their civic morality and personal piety to be lacking. 

What will happen?  According to Malachi, judgement and salvation.  “A day is coming like an oven,” he says, “it will burn up the evil and arrogant.”  This is the judgment part.  Here is the salvation: “The sun of righteousness shall rise, with healing in its wings.”  The imagery reminds me of the end of those Disney movies when an evil spell is broken, a new day dawns, and what had been a black and white world once again is filled with color.

We in the Christian tradition, through the life and message of Jesus, tweak the pattern of judgment and salvation in the prophetic message.  We critique it as being too focused on “them” (the evil) and “us” (the good).  We talk rather about “Crucifixion” and “Resurrection”, about death and rebirth.  We understand each of us needs to die to self in order to rise in Christ.  We see ourselves in Peter, who denies Jesus, in Thomas, who doubts, and even in Judas, who betrays.  We understand our personal need for the healing rays of the Lord’s day to fall upon us; to make us new, to make us whole. 

In the bible, end of time visions such as Malachi’s express a longing for a time sometime in the future when God’s final judgment will separate the wheat from the chaff, banish sin once and for all, restoring all that is fallen in our broken world.  2,500 hundred years later, we still wait.  But Malachi’s vision also calls for repentance and amendment of life in his own day, his own time, in his own society, and in the hearts of everyone who hears his message. 

We in the Christian tradition share his hope for the future as we anticipate the full and final establishment of the Kingdom of God here on earth.  We also look for signs of its healing rays breaking through the darkness of our own day and in our own hearts.  And we find in this moment, in the meal we are about to receive, the healing rays of Christ’s own Body given for us and Christ’s own blood shed for us.  From them we receive the strength to confront the challenges of our daily lives, the wisdom to know what we ought to do in an ever-confusing world, the courage to speak and act for the good and the right, and a hope which endures through all hardship.

One day, we believe, the Son of Righteousness will rise with healing in his wings to reign over all space and time.  In this moment we find the rays of the Son breaking through to touch our hearts and lives empowering us to go forth to love and serve the Lord.  Rejoice and give thanks for the warmth of the Light which God sheds on you this day.  It exposes what is dark.  It banishes all that must go.  It heals.  It renews.  And it is enough.