Wisdom from on High / Lord of Might

O come, thou Wisdom from on high,
who orderest all things mightily;
to us the path of knowledge show,
and teach us in her ways to go.
Rejoice! Rejoice!
Emmanuel shall come to thee, O Israel.

O come, O come, thou Lord of might,
who to thy tribes on Sinai’s height
in ancient times once gave the law
in cloud and majesty and awe.
Rejoice! Rejoice!
Emmanuel shall come to thee, O Israel.

We Christians, it seems to me, should be the most discontented members of the human family. No matter what our situation or station in life, regardless of our material wealth or the state of our health, we should never be satisfied. You see we Christians believe in the promise of our Lord that His kingdom will come and His will will be done on earth as it is in heaven. Any pang of hunger, any act of hatred, any tear shed, any relationship marred by discord, any disease or death is a sign that the time we hope for is not yet here, that God’s promise has not yet been fulfilled. Unlike eastern religions, which direct adherents to disconnect from the ills of the world, our faith teaches us to wait patiently with all of creation for the coming of the Savior who will make all that is wrong in this life right.

The brief season of Advent is a specific time when we Christians embrace our discontentedness and deep yearning for a better world. Over the next four Sundays I want to offer reflections exploring what might just be best articulation of this hope that we have – the hymn O Come, O Come, Emmanuel. While its origin is unknown, we do know that its seven yearnings, rooted on Old Testament images, date back at least to the 8th century. And as you have already experienced this morning, our liturgy at the lighting of the Advent wreath revolves around this hymn and the scriptural passages from which it emerges. So this morning, we focus our thoughts on the longings for Wisdom from on high and for the Lord of might.

Both are spawned from interesting biblical texts and motifs. Wisdom from on high is associated with God’s creative activity. Through wisdom, as the hymn rightly points out, all things were made and brought into order. And the more we learn about creation, the more impressive this ordering appears to be.

The smallest things in existence are the strings that make up of the fabric of all reality - the so-called string theory. These strings are only 1 billionth of a measure called a yactometer. How small is that? Well, it is about 1 billionth the size of an atom. Starting with the mass of a typical human being and increasing or decreasing that by a factor of 10, we are closer in size to the theoretical limits of the universe than we are to one of these strings. As immense as the universe is, the tiny, tiny world is even more vast than that. Still, we Christians proclaim that God’s Wisdom has brought it all together and holds it in place. To this Wisdom we fix our yearning:

to us the path of knowledge show,
and teach us in her ways to go.

We are not craving book knowledge here. We long for a wisdom that Walt Whitman said is “of the soul.” It comes to us as gift from above – sometimes through prayer, sometimes through the witness of another. The writer and poet Philip Appleman penned one of the quirkiest, yet insightful prayers you may ever hear:

O Karma, Dharma, pudding and pie,
gimmie a break before I die:
grant me wisdom, will, & wit,
purity, probity, pluck, & grit.
Trustworthy, loyal, helpful, kind,
gimme great abs & a steel-trap mind,
and forgive, Ye Gods, some humble advice –
these little blessings would suffice
to beget an earthly paradise:
make the bad people good –
and the good people nice;
and before our world goes over the brink,
teach the believers how to think.

For us believers groping in the dark for how to think, the place to start is with God’s wise ordering of all that is. What, we should ask, is our place in that order? How does the God who created the world of the yactometer conceive our role in this life?

This question leads us to today’s second yearning, the desire for the Lord of might. It is a longing which conjures up a variety of images: perhaps the parting of the Red Sea, the defeat of Jericho, or the fire which consumed the prophets of Baal who contested with Elijah. We tend to connect this desire with God’s overwhelming, irresistible force. It says something very important that the text associated with the desire for the Lord of might is the giving of the Ten Commandments on ‘Sinai’s height.’ It tells us that this yearning is rooted not in power, but in moral authority.

We yearn for a voice, for a witness, for a prophet, for a Savior who will tell us, or show us, how to live in our complex world with its variety of beliefs and competing interests. It is a yearning not for military superiority and not for the purposes of a particular political party, but for the advent of a moral figure – a present day Martin Luther King or Gandhi – who will transform the world through the power of his or her vision of a better way to live.

The Christian Church struggles both for wisdom and for the power associated with moral authority. Two weeks ago I had dinner with my old college roommate who is now a Presbyterian minister. During our conversation he expressed frustration with the thousands and thousands of pronouncements that come out of his national church office and meetings. “We spend all this time working out these things, but why,” he said? “No one is listening to us.” Now I am sure that some of what the Presbyterians call for is a bit silly or trivial or misguided, just as are some of the things that come out of our Episcopal General Conventions. But for the most part, most of what our churches are saying is rooted in God’s wisdom. The problem is no one is listening and we don’t appear to have the moral might to draw attention to us.

As the early Christian Church lived out God’s wisdom through moral authority the world began to take notice. This notice led both to the growth of the church and to its persecution. I have been reading the writings of the Apostolic Fathers, the first generation of Christian leadership to emerge after Peter, Paul, and the other initial followers of Jesus. Ignatius served as bishop of Antioch. All we know of him comes from seven brief letters he wrote to churches while he was being transported to Rome for execution. His words reveal him to be a person of both wisdom and moral might. Listen to some of what he has to say to the church in Ephesus:

Pray continually for the rest of mankind…, that they may find God, for there is in them hope for repentance. Therefore allow them to be instructed by you, at least by your deeds. [What does this suggest about the might of moral authority?] In response to their anger, be gentle; in response to their boasts, be humble; in response to their slander, offer prayers; in response to their errors, be “steadfast in the faith”; in response to their cruelty, be gentle; do not be eager to retaliate against them. Let us show ourselves their brothers by our forbearance, and let us be eager to be imitators of the Lord [What does this say about Wisdom from on high?]…

These are the last times. Therefore let us… love the grace which is present…, let us be found in Christ Jesus, which leads to true life. Let nothing appeal to you apart from Him, in whom I carry around these chains (my spiritual pearls!); by which I hope, through your prayers, to rise again.

I love in Ignatius’ words the idea that what we yearn for in Advent can, to some degree, be manifested in us. The kingdom we pray for begins in us, with us, and through us. There is in us already a portion of the Wisdom we hope one day will order all things and to the degree we live Christ-like lives we manifest a glimpse of the Moral Might we hope one day will be the authority to which the entire human family yields. Rejoice, Rejoice, all ye who yearn. Emmanuel will come to thee. Still, remarkably, both the Wisdom and the Might we yearn for exists within us in some measure even now.

Christ the King Sunday

Luke 23:33-43

When they came to the place that is called The Skull, they crucified Jesus there with the criminals, one on his right and one on his left.

Then Jesus said, “Father, forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing.”

And they cast lots to divide his clothing. The people stood by, watching Jesus on the cross; but the leaders scoffed at him, saying, “He saved others; let him save himself if he is the Messiah of God, his chosen one!” The soldiers also mocked him, coming up and offering him sour wine, and saying, “If you are the King of the Jews, save yourself!” There was also an inscription over him, “This is the King of the Jews.”

One of the criminals who were hanged there kept deriding him and saying, “Are you not the Messiah? Save yourself and us!” But the other rebuked him, saying, “Do you not fear God, since you are under the same sentence of condemnation? And we indeed have been condemned justly, for we are getting what we deserve for our deeds, but this man has done nothing wrong.”

Then he said, “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” He replied, “Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise.”

Today, the last Sunday in the Church Year, is known as Christ the King Sunday. We follow the Christian calendar in order to frame the rhythm of our lives around the rhythm of Christ’s life. In Advent we await God’s birth in the world. For the twelve days of Christmas we celebrate the gift of God’s self to the world. During Epiphany we mark the gradual revealing of God’s light manifested in Christ. In Lent we acknowledge the darkness of our lives and in our world; a darkness which seeks to overshadow God’s light. Throughout Holy Week we observe the rejection and destruction of God’s light. On Easter Day we rejoice that neither the worst we can do nor the most awful forces of this life can conquer the life which God offers to us. At Pentecost we recognize how the power which fueled the light of Christ falls upon each one of us and upon God’s Church. Over the many weeks that follow – through ‘Ordinary Time’ – we learn what it means to manifest God’s life and love in ordinary ways. We live into what it means to be the light of Christ in the world.

And after fifty-one weeks we come to the end of this cycle to recognize how Christ the King, the Light of the world, reigns in us and in our world and over all creation. The strange thing is that the Gospel reading does not give us a particularly compelling image of a reigning king, just as our world does not exactly evidence that God is its sovereign. And yet for those brief hours at the place called The Skull, we see the diverse and complex aspects of humanity brought together in one place and we see how God is present in the midst of it.

Consider who is gathered around the Cross:

There are some who cast lots for Jesus’ clothing; reminding us that there are now (as there always has been) those who seek to benefit from the misfortune of others; scavengers who seek to turn every situation to their advantage.

There are on-lookers; people who feel so disenfranchised they believe they have no power to affect the outcome of events around them. And most likely they believe they have no share in the responsibility of events beyond their control.

There are religious leaders; misguided figures whose thinking about God and perception of God’s ways has become so calcified that when God’s light comes into the world they believe it their sacred duty to snuff it out.

There are soldiers, people empowered to enforce the edicts of rulers who abuse what is entrusted to them by mocking and deriding and dehumanizing at every possible turn.

Of the two criminals, there is one who looks at the beaten, battered crucified figure of Jesus and says, “Some God you are! Is this the best you can do for us and for yourself? If so, it is not very impressive!” And let’s be honest, who has not responded to an unanswered prayer or a numbing heartache or natural disaster or any other number of possible, legitimate complaints, and not said to God in some form or fashion, “Really God? Is this the best you can do?”

And then there is the other criminal who looks at the mess he has made of his life and ponders the brokenness he has created and shadowy darkness he has cast throughout his days and begs for mercy.

It is quite a scene, isn’t it! And as I said, it is a pretty broad, fairly full representation of humanity. And in all its diversity I see aspects of myself. There is a facet of me in each of these people. Can you see aspects of yourself in each of them as well?

Each of the Gospel writers is at pains to portray Jesus, even at His crucifixion, as being in control of all that is unfolding. Each writer highlights that Jesus chooses to be on the Cross, that at any time throughout these events He could have stepped away. This tells us something very profound about the Kingship of Christ. It tells us that Jesus chooses to reign from the costly place where all these voices intersect. His throne is the Cross and it is positioned squarely in the center of life’s widely divergent demands; demands which are often in diametric opposition to one another.

There is within me, as I assume there is within you, a voice of consternation that wonders why God has not done more to effect good in our world. There is another voice which begs for mercy for all that I have done to damage God’s work in the world. There is a part of me that feels completely powerless in the face of life’s demands and there is a part of me that acknowledges I abuse what power I do have. I know how I can be an opportunist, a voice of ridicule, and a roadblock on the pathway to the kingdom. In all of this Christ chooses – chooses – to reign in my life from the place where all these competing interests intersect. And of all that you can say about the Church – universal and in its local manifestation here at St. Paul’s – Jesus Christ chooses to reign in our midst from the very center of all that we are.

It is from this position at The Skull that God’s triumphant reign is seen most clearly. So if we, the body of Christ, want to emulate this reign in today’s world and in the lives of our people, we will seek to position ourselves at the great intersection of the world’s contempt and complaint and corruption and cry for pity.

Jesus, as He reigns from the most unlikely of thrones, makes only two kingly pronouncements: “Father, forgive them for they do not know what they do,” and “Today you will be with me in Paradise.” One recognizes the consequences of our limitations, but does not withdraw the radical graciousness of God’s love. The other suggests that even when we are caught up in life’s agony and misfortune we stand squarely in the kingdom of God; side by side with Christ as He reigns on the Cross.

We have come through the course of a year to learn again that we are loved in and through all things, even when we are at our worst, and that no matter what God is still God, reigning from the intersection of all that life has to offer.

Settling into Life's Second Half

Luke 21:5-19

When some were speaking about the temple, how it was adorned with beautiful stones and gifts dedicated to God, Jesus said, “As for these things that you see, the days will come when not one stone will be left upon another; all will be thrown down.”

They asked him, “Teacher, when will this be, and what will be the sign that this is about to take place?” And he said, “Beware that you are not led astray; for many will come in my name and say, ‘I am he!’ and, ‘The time is near!’ Do not go after them. When you hear of wars and insurrections, do not be terrified; for these things must take place first, but the end will not follow immediately.”
Then he said to them, “Nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom; there will be great earthquakes, and in various places famines and plagues; and there will be dreadful portents and great signs from heaven. But before all this occurs, they will arrest you and persecute you; they will hand you over to synagogues and prisons, and you will be brought before kings and governors because of my name. This will give you an opportunity to testify. So make up your minds not to prepare your defense in advance; for I will give you words and a wisdom that none of your opponents will be able to withstand or contradict. You will be betrayed even by parents and brothers, by relatives and friends; and they will put some of you to death. You will be hated by all because of my name. But not a hair of your head will perish. By your endurance you will gain your souls.”

The college I attended had an excellent, but demanding engineering program. On the first day of the first class of the freshman year, with all the engineering hopefuls gathered in one large classroom, the head of the department asked the students to look at the person on their right and the person on their left. After a dramatic pause he said, “This time next year, one of the three of you will be a business major, another will be in accounting. Only a third of you will graduate with an engineering degree.” It was a hard, sobering message to hear. It effectively communicated that the road ahead was going to be marked by challenge, anxiety, fear, and failure. No one was going to skate on through. Only a few would survive.

It is the same message given to med students as they begin their residency, law students as they prepare to sit for the bar, and young men and women as they begin basic training:

This is going to be hard.
This is going to demand your best.
This is going to push you past the breaking point.
Some of you are not going to make it.

It is not a new message about a current challenge. It is at least as ancient as the teachings of Jesus. Whenever you read the bible or listen to it being read in public worship, never forget that all of it – its various parts from different eras and settings – emerged during a time of terror. The gospels, for instance, were compiled in and around the Roman siege of Jerusalem in 70 AD. This led to the complete destruction of the Temple; an event so cataclysmic that it decimated not only the religious center of the people, but most of its governance and culture as well.

For those original readers of Luke’s Gospel, today’s passage was not a prediction of 21st century events – as some ‘bible-believing’ folks would have us think – but teachings by Jesus regarding events unfolding in their own day and the traumatic realities they lived with as a constant companion. Jesus says to them:

Following Me in the faith is going to be hard.
Being a disciple will demand the best you have.
You will be pushed past the breaking point.
Some of you are not going to make it.

But He also says something more:

You are not going to go through this alone.
I will be with you to see you through.
Make up your mind now (or other versions translate it as “settle it in your mind” or even “settle it in your heart”) that these things are going to happen.
As you endure, you gain your soul.

The tense of the verb to settle coveys the idea of a present action which has future implications. The idea is that as you tend to your spiritual life today, you are better prepared to face the challenges of the future. The more fully we know God’s love today, the more comforted we will be by it in the dark times to come.

You may find it interesting to know that the only other place in the New Testament where this usage of the verb to settle is found is in Peter’s first letter:

And after you have suffered a little while, the God of all grace, who has called you to His eternal glory in Christ, will Himself restore, establish, strengthen, and settle you. (5:10)

Did you hear the connection between suffering and settling? Did you catch the order of the verbs: restore, establish, strengthen, and finally settle? It is almost as if something that has been broken has been repaired.

The verb to settle is found only one place in the Old Testament and it deals with the rebuilding of the Temple in the 4th century before Christ. There it speaks of the walls and even the altar itself, once restored and established, as being settled. It is a very powerful image that suggests as God loves and cares for the Temple so God loves and cares for us. The Temple, so broken that not one stone was left on another, becomes settled. We, who throughout our lives are broken, are restored, established, strengthened, and settled by God’s power working in us.

I keep a file of my sermons, organized by the readings for the 3-year Lectionary cycle. Fifteen years ago this Sunday I preached for the first time after my younger daughter’s birth. In that sermon I related my four-year-old daughter’s concerns: “Dad, we’re a family right? You and me and mom and Abbey and Maggie (our dog) and the gerbils. We’re a family right? And we’ll always be together! Right?” “Yes, dear, we’re a family and we’ll always be together,” I told her, knowing that some day it would not be so, but in my lying I was thinking primarily about the gerbils.

Looking back now, I can say with complete confidence that I never could have anticipated all that has happened in my life and if you would have told me about it ahead of time, I would not have been able to bear the thought. And yet here I am on the other side. I am not sure I would described myself as being restored, established, strengthened, and settled, because it feels more like an on-going process than something that has been completed. But here I am.

The speaker at our clergy conference last week talked about the two phases of life. In the first phase we act as if we get from life what we put into it. If we work hard and do the right things we believe everything will be fine. But at some point there comes a crisis so deep there is nothing (and I mean nothing) we can do to work our way out of it. It may be a mess of our own making. It may be something well beyond anything we did or deserve. But whatever it is it brings us to our knees. There, helpless, unable to lift ourselves on our own, God’s grace comes to us and – over time and through many, many tears – that grace sees us through. This is when the second phase of life begins… a phase when we realize that all of life is about grace: undeserved, unearned, unseen, but unmistakable grace.

This is the time when today’s final words of Jesus become our reality: as you endure you gain your soul. I sense what has changed in me over the last 15 years, emerging from the ashes of one crisis after another. I don’t know how else to describe it other than to say I am learning more and more how to live and move and have my being in God’s grace. I see it in many of you as well, you who have been born by grace through crisis and reborn into the second half of life.

Some five centuries before Jesus, the prophet Isaiah spoken poetically of our great hope in God. During the time of Judah’s exile and ruin, he envisioned a day when infants would not die young and people of many years would be plenteous; a day when you could build a house and count of living in it, plant a crop and know with certainty you would harvest it; a day when the wolf and the lamb will feed side by side, when lions will not prey on oxen, but eat straw with them. It is a vision only possible for a person who has looked at the student on the left and on the right and made it through – perhaps as a business major. It is a hope only proclaimed by a person who has endured crisis and been reborn into the second half of life. It is a message proclaimed by a one who has been restored, established, strengthened, and settled who believes that what God has done for him God will do for all. His message to us, which we proclaimed in our reading: Surely it is God who saves me.

God's Love for the Lacking: Pentecost 23

Luke 19:1-10

Jesus entered Jericho and was passing through it. A man was there named Zacchaeus; he was a chief tax collector and was rich. He was trying to see who Jesus was, but on account of the crowd he could not, because he was short in stature. So he ran ahead and climbed a sycamore tree to see him, because he was going to pass that way. When Jesus came to the place, he looked up and said to him, “Zacchaeus, hurry and come down; for I must stay at your house today.” So he hurried down and was happy to welcome him. All who saw it began to grumble and said, “He has gone to be the guest of one who is a sinner.” Zacchaeus stood there and said to the Lord, “Look, half of my possessions, Lord, I will give to the poor; and if I have defrauded anyone of anything, I will pay back four times as much.” Then Jesus said to him, “Today salvation has come to this house, because he too is a son of Abraham. For the Son of Man came to seek out and to save the lost.”

Flannery O’Connor, in her essay “Mystery and Manners” observed that when authors of fiction write about the rich, they are more concerned with what the person lacks than with what the person has. And although St. Luke’s gospel is not fiction, he took the same approach when he wrote about Zacchaeus. Luke lets us know who Zacchaeus was and what he has with two brief descriptions: he was a tax collector and he was rich. But Luke does not dwell on the benefits of this status; though we can be sure there were many. Zacchaeus had a better life-style than most, he lived in a prestigious Jericho neighborhood, and he enjoyed the best methods of transportation, the finest clothes, and the most sumptuous foods. All in all, Zacchaeus reveled in the privileges that come with affluence.

But when Luke wants us to know about Zacchaeus, he does not describe any of that. He tells us about what Zacchaeus lacks. Luke does not lay it out in black and white. You have to read between the lines to get the specifics, but they are there for us to see. You get the sense that Zacchaeus was isolated, that there was a hiddenness about him, that all his bravado was a mask for a deep-rooted sense of inferiority. The local community rejected him because of his occupation and his tactics of extortion. When Luke set out to tell us about him, he could not identify a single important family member, friend, or acquaintance in Zacchaeus’ life. And, perhaps most important, Zacchaeus was hiding from God. While he may have been short in stature, you get the sense that Zacchaeus believed himself to be even shorter in soul. What did Zacchaeus lack? He had everything the world offers, but nothing that comes from God.

The conversion of Zacchaeus – the personal transformation achieved with blinding speed – is one of my favorite stories in the Bible. The best sermon I ever heard on Zacchaeus had two simple points. First, Jesus tells Zacchaeus “I love you where you are.” Hiding in a Sycamore tree, cheating everybody in town out of their hard-earned money, alone and miserable and isolated, but nicely dressed! – Jesus says to Zacchaeus, “I love you where you are.” Then Jesus says to him, “I need you. I want you to do something for me. I want to come to your house for lunch.” And there, at Zacchaeus’ home, surrounded by all that ill-gotten gain, Jesus was able to look past all that was wrong with the little man’s life. He was able to see what Zacchaeus lacked.

No one had ever told him “God loves you right here, right now - no conditions, no qualifications, no catches, and no hidden fees. God loves you.” Do you realize what a radical statement this is? In Zacchaeus’ day it was believed that God loved you because you were a part of the Chosen Nation and because you followed all the rules and regulations and because you kept yourself ritually clean for worship in the Temple and because you made the right sacrifices at the appointed time. Basically folks believed you deserved God’s love because you did all the things necessary to earn God’s love.

2000 years later I don’t know that things have changed all that much. We still attach God’s love to conditions like attending church and quoting the bible and being a “good person” – however you might define ‘good.’ Now, as then, we want to put limits on God’s love. We are more comfortable with a Savior who says “Be a better parent, stop cheating people when you collect taxes, get to church more often, and serve on some committees. Do that for two or three years and then maybe you will be worthy of my love.”

The problem is, when we put those kinds of words on the lips of our Savior, then our Savior doesn’t really save us at all. It all rests with us and with our ability to get our own act together. When the Church says to a person that she needs to come around to the right kind of life before God can love her, then we are saying in effect, “Save yourself.” That is not the Gospel message of Jesus Christ.

Dietrich Bonhoeffer, the Lutheran pastor and theologian, wrote this:

"Christ is not concerned, himself, with being good. He is concerned solely with love for the real person, and for that reason He is able to enter into fellowship with our guilt and to take the burden of our guilt upon Himself. Jesus does not desire to look down on us as the only guiltless One while each one of us goes on to our ruin under the weight of our guilt. He does not wish to acquit Himself of the guilt under which we die. He wishes to assume it. A love which left us alone in our guilt would not be love for the real us. From His selfless love, from His freedom from sin, Jesus enters into our guilt and takes that guilt upon Himself in His body, on the cross.”

This is why we proclaim Jesus as the only Savior!

So Zacchaeus responds to unconditional love – perhaps the first time in his life he has ever known a love like that! And then he responds to Jesus’ call to service. Long-dormant gifts of hospitality resurface. He makes a meal for Jesus and His Disciples. And at that meal, overjoyed with a new sense of love and purpose, with a new sense of community and fellowship with God, Zacchaeus makes the kind of moral and ethical changes so many people would demand of him before they would allow God to love him. But notice the process. Notice that love comes first, purpose follows, and finally repentance and amendment of life are a possibility.

What do you lack? Do you sense that God loves you right now, right where you are? Can you discern God calling you to service – giving you a reason and purpose in life beyond surviving the daily grind and paying the monthly bills? These two spiritual elements seem to be prerequisites to real transformation. If they are not present, change will not occur.

By my reading of this account, Zacchaeus does one thing to initiate the change in his life. He climbs a tree. He is too short to see over the crowd as Jesus passes by. He is not well liked, so no one will let him pass through to the front. And goodness knows he probably does not want to be front-and-center when Jesus passes by anyway. So he goes to the back and climbs a tree and that alone sets him apart from everyone else in the crowd. That is why Jesus was able to see him.

If you are listening to my sermon this morning and thinking that you are not that different from Zacchaeus, that you are lacking something you can not live without, that you are putting all the wrong things in the place where only God can be, that you have never really sensed God’s unconditional love for you, or that you don’t believe you have anything of value to contribute, do me one favor… call me some time.

Climb a tree, as it were, and lets talk. There is nothing more important that I can do for you as your priest. When I was ordained I did not take a vow before God and the Church to point out all the places where people are lacking. I took a vow to proclaim the Gospel of Jesus Christ so that all people might come to know the power of God’s love and the healing of His forgiveness. Call me some time and let’s talk. Let’s talk about you and about Jesus and about how Jesus can love and use a person just like you – right now, just as you are.

Prayer in the Check-Out Line

Luke 18:9-14

Jesus told this parable to some who trusted in themselves that they were righteous and regarded others with contempt:

“Two men went up to the temple to pray, one a Pharisee and the other a tax collector. The Pharisee, standing by himself, was praying thus, ‘God, I thank you that I am not like other people: thieves, rogues, adulterers, or even like this tax collector. I fast twice a week; I give a tenth of all my income.’

But the tax collector, standing far off, would not even look up to heaven, but was beating his breast and saying, ‘God, be merciful to me, a sinner!’ I tell you, this man went down to his home justified rather than the other; for all who exalt themselves will be humbled, but all who humble themselves will be exalted.”

I can honestly say that I have never prayed the Pharisee’s prayer in church. But I must confess that it is my typical litany as I stand in a checkout line - especially at Wal-Mart. I pass the time there by sizing up all the people ahead of me and making a mental list of their faults: weight, hair, make-up, clothing, body language, use of the English language... I suspect you know the drill. In my better moments I spend the time in prayer asking God to grant me the gift of seeing those around me as God sees them. Far more than being a better way to endure the wait, I need to be transformed in a way that appreciates the beauty and dignity of every human being; for each of us is created in the image of God and I find that my humanity diminishes whenever I diminish the humanity of another person. My heart, when filled with self-righteous contemptuousness, is not a pretty sight nor is it a suitable dwelling place for the Spirit of the holy and loving God.

I think St. Augustine knew what it was to have a heart like mine. Well after his conversion to Christianity he wrote this about his life-long struggle to know God’s love for all people:

I came to You too late, Oh Beauty, so ancient and so new. Yes, I came to love You too late. What did I know? You were inside me, and I was out of my body and mind looking for You. I drove like an ugly madman against the beautiful things and beings You made.

Denise Levertov, one of my favorite contemporary poets, wrote this in response to what we just heard:

Augustine said his soul
was a house so cramped
God could barely squeeze in.
Knock down the mean partitions,
he prayed, so You may enter!
Raise the oppressive ceiling!

I like her image of a contemptuous heart being like a cramped room; walls closing in on one another and a ceiling so low you must stoop or squat in order to move around. That kind of a room is no place you would want to be for long. It is not the image of what we hope our Christ-filled hearts will be like. And it is not how the Agitator God will leave us.

Augustine continues his story with this:

You were inside me, but I was not inside You… You called to me, cried to me; You broke the bowl of my deafness, You uncovered my beams and threw them at me; You rejected my blindness; You blew a fragrant wind on me, and I sucked in my breath and wanted You; I tasted You and now I want You as I want food and water; You touched me, and I have been burning ever since to have Your peace.

Here is what Levertov wrote regarding Augustine’s soul:

It’s clear desire
fulfilled itself in the asking, revealing prayer’s
dynamic action, that scoops out channels
like water on stone, or builds like layers
of grainy sediment steadily
forming sandstone. The walls, with each thought,
each feeling, each word he set down,
expanded, unnoticed; the roof
rose, and the skylight opened.

I love that image of prayer being like water running over stone, which, in time, scoops out channels in our soul; places where transformation happens, but perhaps happens slowly, unnoticed. Yet in time, the low roof on our hearts begins to rise and a skylight is opened, allowing God’s love to shine into those places inside us that once were dark.

For me, the check-out line is as good a place as anywhere to start the process. Can I allow the other to become more in my mind and my heart and my soul than a label like white trash, welfare mom, old lady, redneck, fat slob, or tax collector. It is a fundamental question: does God love just me – the wonderful me I imagine myself to be – or does God love all that God has made and called good? And if God loves all, how can I begin to allow that love to shine in my closed, cramped, dark heart? If I start in the check-out line and then move to rush hour traffic and then extend it to coworkers, fellow parishioners, neighbors, and family members… well, eventually (to shift the metaphor) channels will be carved in the solid stone of my hard heart through which a love from beyond can freely flow.

Some twenty years ago, The Rev. Carolyn Crawford told a story in a sermon that was so moving it was picked up by newspapers across the country. It was Christmas time and Crawford decided to go to a local Nordstrom’s store to do some shopping. Then as now, Nordstrom’s is a high-end retailer that prides itself on customer service. The store presented an elegant environment with beautiful decorations and Christmas carols played by a man in tuxedo at a grand piano. The store conveyed all the sights, sounds, and aromas of the season for its well-heeled cliental.

As Crawford browsed she noticed a woman in ragged clothes pushing an old shopping cart filled with tattered possessions. Figuring this bag lady would soon be escorted from the store by security guards, Crawford decided to follow at a distance and observe. The disheveled figure wandered from one department to another and surprisingly no one asked her to leave.

Eventually the woman made her way to the very expensive “Special Occasions” department where a stylishly-dressed saleswoman greeted her. They discussed the latest styles, colors, and fabrics that one might look for in a dress for a gala event. After searching through evening dresses in her size, the homeless customer chose about a half dozen to try on and the attentive saleswoman assisted her to the dressing rooms. Emerging several times and each time wearing a different dress, the saleswoman helped her evaluate her selections: “A perfect color for you.” “This one really works well with your hair and eyes.” “You look so elegant in that dress.” The bag lady who had shuffled into store was standing upright now, holding her head high with a renewed sense of dignity and worth.

“Can you hold this one for me?” she asked the saleswoman. “Well, of course I can,” was the reply. “And how long would you like to hold it for you?” “Oh, just a few hours,” said the bag lady. “That will not be a problem,” said the saleswoman, who never let on what both of them knew, that the bag lady would not be coming back to buy a dress she could never afford. And yet, with the same dignity and respect that she would show for any of the other wealthy customers, the saleswoman set aside the dress, asked what else she might do to be of service, and thanked the woman for shopping at Nordstrom’s.

After the homeless woman left the store, Crawford approached the saleswoman and asked about the incident. The woman replied, “Here at Nordstom’s, our only goal is to satisfy the customer. My job is always and only to serve and be kind.” And when she told this story to her congregation, Crawford gave her sermon the title “The Gospel according to Nordstom’s.”

Where should you start to live out the Gospel? Where should you pray for the ceiling to be raised on your dark heart? Where should you ask for God’s grace to flow and flow and flow over the hardened stone of your inner world? Well, a good place to start is wherever your thoughts (or maybe even your prayers) go something like this: “Thank God I am not like other people… especially like that person over there.”

Pentecost 21: The Courage to Will and to Persevere

Luke 18:1-8

Jesus told his disciples a parable about their need to pray always and not to lose heart. He said,

“In a certain city there was a judge who neither feared God nor had respect for people. In that city there was a widow who kept coming to him and saying, ‘Grant me justice against my opponent.’

For a while he refused; but later he said to himself, ‘Though I have no fear of God and no respect for anyone, yet because this widow keeps bothering me, I will grant her justice, so that she may not wear me out by continually coming.’”

And the Lord said, “Listen to what the unjust judge says. And will not God grant justice to his chosen ones who cry to him day and night? Will he delay long in helping them? I tell you, he will quickly grant justice to them. And yet, when the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on earth?”


Jesus was not a part of the ruling elite nor was He well-placed in the religious hierarchy of His day. He came not from money, but existed in that class of people whose fortunes ebbed and flowed with fortunes and misfortunes of the day. And, in reality, it was more like degrees of misfortune and it was more like the varying severities of ebbing. Abuses handed out by the Roman occupiers, excessive taxation and onerous rents, and religious obligations piled one on top of another… this was the world in which Jesus was raised. So is it any wonder that He thirsted so mightily for the kingdom of God, for a reign of justice!

Today we hear Him tell His followers a parable about an indifferent judge and a persistent, pestering widow. The judge represents the epitome of power, a person in the human institution instructed by God to protect the weak and vulnerable. And in the Hebrew society, there was no person more weak and vulnerable than a widow. But this judge cares nothing for the widow, yet relents only when he tires of her nagging. God, says Jesus, is not like that judge because God cares deeply for us. His point is obvious: God, who loves us, will much more willingly respond to our persistent plea for justice.

This is yet another in a string of teachings by Jesus recorded in succession by Luke the Gospeler that, while being curious on the surface, conveys a straightforward meaning: justice never overcomes injustice without a struggle, inhumanity is never overcome by humanity alone, and the kingdom of God is never ushered in by quitters.

Justice never overcomes injustice without a struggle. Here in Virginia, one of the voices who speaks for Episcopalians and other faith traditions is the Virginia Interfaith Center for Public Policy. Several years ago the center began to lobby against the exorbitant rates charged by payday lending businesses. The first year’s efforts during the General Assembly bore little fruit, but they did not give up. They worked to educate congregations and denominations over the next twelve months. This garnered more popular support for the cause, yet the second year’s legislation fell short again. So the center began to work more directly with two groups: those holding public office and media outlets around the commonwealth. By the third year a diverse group of legislators took up the cause and editorials in papers around the state came out in favor of reform. Still, no bill was passed. The center pushed forward and by the fourth Assembly broad and deep consensus was in place to enact reforms. Four years. Justice takes time.

And inhumanity is never overcome by humanity alone. No one person or group can muster from within the resources needed to make a wrong right. No significant social change is made simply by wearing out the soles of your shoes. Those who overcome also wear out the knees on their pants. If God wills it, God will provide the strength to accomplish it. Without that strength our human resources, while important and necessary, become depleted. Every parent knows this truth. Our love and our skill and our desire to raise our children are never enough. Parenting, like the quest for justice, must be nurtured and supported and strengthened by the Source that is above us.

And that kind of a prayer life is essential to keep us going because the kingdom of God is never ushered in by quitters. I suspect that most of us – with me at the head of the pack – can be characterized as complacent. Yes, there is much that we don’t like about our society and while we rail and wail there is not a lot that we are offering to make it any different. But every now and then we conceive of how we might make a difference. Maybe it is a Food Pantry or a reading program that pairs children with therapy dogs or a renewed effort at excellence in Christian formation. Or maybe, as it is now with several of our parishioners, it involves getting involved in local government races and issues. Whatever it might be, we must calculate the cost… how much of my time will it take? My money? My emotional strength? My spiritual reserves? Am I in it to see it through, or just in it until it gets tough? Or draining? Or unpopular? Think about anybody who has ever changed our society – say Martin Luther King – or who changed our community or who changed our parish. Was any one of them a quitter?

In a few moments we will baptize Olivia Ferguson into the Christian faith and life. Once I administer the water in the Name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit, I will pray for her what has been prayed for each one of us at our baptism:

Sustain her, O Lord, in your Holy Spirit. Give her an inquiring and discerning heart, the courage to will and to persevere, a spirit to know and to love you, and the gift of joy and wonder in all your works.

An inquiring and discerning heart… well, that is important if you are going to know God’s will. A gift of joy and wonder in all God’ works… well, that is important if you are going to appreciate all that God does. A spirit to know and to love God… that speaks for itself. But have you ever paid attention to this part of the prayer: the courage to will and to persevere? It is an essential element of the Christian faith and life. If we don’t will God’s kingdom to come through us and if we don’t persevere in our efforts, then we are little more than a light hidden under a basket or salt that has lost its flavor.

Jesus offers today’s parable at a time in His life when He knows He is nearing the greatest test He will face. He knows that the justice He seeks will not come cheaply. It will be as costly as the cross. He knows that inhumanity will not become overcome by the offering of His humanity alone. He knows that the power of God will have to raise Him up from the power of death. And He knows that He will see it through to the end. There is no quit in Him.

Perhaps the last line in the gospel reading is the most telling as to what is on His mind: “When the Son of Man comes again, will He find faith on the earth?” Will He find anyone baptized into the Christian faith and life who has the courage to will the kingdom of God into reality and is able to persevere in the work this will take? What will He find in you? What will He find in me?

Penetcost 20: The Leper & the Pastoral Letter

Luke 17:11-19

On the way to Jerusalem Jesus was going through the region between Samaria and Galilee. As he entered a village, ten lepers approached him. Keeping their distance, they called out, saying, “Jesus, Master, have mercy on us!” When he saw them, he said to them, “Go and show yourselves to the priests.” And as they went, they were made clean.

Then one of them, when he saw that he was healed, turned back, praising God with a loud voice. He prostrated himself at Jesus’ feet and thanked him. And he was a Samaritan.

Then Jesus asked, “Were not ten made clean? But the other nine, where are they? Was none of them found to return and give praise to God except this foreigner?”

Then he said to him, “Get up and go on your way; your faith has made you well.”

Today’s Gospel reading finds Jesus at a borderline area – a place where people of different ethnicities meet and interact. Then, as now, these regions and relationships offer a variety of blessings and set in motion certain challenges. Jesus is in a vibrant and volatile area as He encounters ten lepers. The focus of the story as Luke tells it is not so much on the miraculous healing that Jesus effects, but rather on the one person who returns to give thanks… that person being a ‘foreigner.’

Let me use the context of this story to comment on a Pastoral Letter issued from the House of Bishops who met a few weeks ago in Arizona. Bishops of the Episcopal Church typically gather twice a year under the leadership and direction of the Presiding Bishop. From time to time the bishops use these gatherings to craft a Pastoral Letter which is then disseminated to the church. In the mid-nineties, for example, the House of Bishops issued a Pastoral Letter on Racism. Clergy are bound by canon law to make these letters available to the parish they serve. Sometimes the diocesan bishop will give specific direction on how this is to occur. It can range from reading the letter in public worship to including it in the monthly newsletter to posting in on a bulletin board. On the occasion of this letter, Bishop Hollerith has made no directive, so the manner of presenting it to the parish is at my discretion.

This most recent letter addresses the immigration crisis facing not only our country, but countries throughout the world. Clearly this is a sensitive, polarizing issue around which many have strong feelings. The letter is included in your bulletin and I will allow you to read it on your own at another time. I did not reproduce the thirty-some pages of supporting documents that the bishops included with the letter. If you would like to see that I will help you figure out how to download it from the internet.

Here is what I like about what the bishops have said.

First, their meeting in Arizona was scheduled long before that state passed its controversial law to crack down on illegal immigrants. Rather than move their meeting out of the state in protest, they used the location to explore the issue more fully.

Second, I like that the bishops met in person with a wide variety of people connected with this concern: “migrants, immigrants, the border patrol, local ranchers, and Christian communities seeking to minister to all these groups.”

Third, I like that the bishops speak to us as leaders of the church, as people who think first and foremost about the kingdom of God, about God’s will being done here on earth as it is in heaven. Their perspective shifts the issue from Republicans verses Democrats, from Fox News verses CNN, and invites (challenges) us to consider what a faithful, Christian position might look like. For me, at least, this is very helpful, for while I am proud to be an American and while most of my personal political leanings are conservative, my first and primary allegiance is to the covenant I made with God at baptism.

Next, I like that the bishops have rejected a viewpoint which holds that this issue must be resolved in accords with the way only one perspective sees it. When emotions run high, competing interests have a way of shouting past each other, never hearing what the other is saying and never benefiting from the wisdom that the other speaks. So, for instance, the bishops “acknowledge the duty of governments to protect their people, including the securing of borders.” In addition they call on the government to create “fair and humane immigration policies” that allow for “a reasonable path to citizenship for undocumented workers” and “a viable system for receiving temporary or seasonal guest workers, with clearly defined points of entry.”

Finally, I like that the bishops mark the difference between those people who cross the border of any country “to escape poverty, hunger, injustice and violence” and those who are “drug traffickers, terrorists, and other criminals.” One group we should do all in a power to keep out, the other are “ordinary people who are simply seeking a better life for themselves and their children.”

The immigration crisis is a huge problem for our country, magnified by our inability as a people to have civil discourse that results in common consensus which then empowers our public leaders to act.

What might we at St. Paul’s do in response to this Pastoral Letter? Well, first we might pray – individually and collectively. Our prayers might dive under the surface of the issue and consider the very real needs and concerns of migrating people. We are connected to them through our common humanity. Many are our brothers and sisters in Christ, related to us through baptism. They need and deserve our prayers.

Next, we can get more deeply involved in the House of Hope, a ministry to migrant workers on the Eastern Shore that we supported through this summer’s Vacation Bible School dessert auction. Several of our partner churches here in Suffolk had made mission trips to House of Hope and we have been invited to join them in future projects.

Finally, our bishops are not telling us what to think, they are telling us what they think. I for one always want to listen to what our bishops have to say, but that does not mean we are not able to speak. In fact, it is quite the opposite. Our bishops hope that we will speak to one another and speak with them and speak with other people in our community and speak with our elected officials. We can and should make our voices heard and it will make a difference. Ultimately what our bishops ask is that we speak as Christians, as persons whose lives are dedicated to the life and teaching and witness of Jesus.

The foreign leper that Jesus encountered was not an undocumented worker or an illegal immigrant because there was no such thing in Jesus’ time. There were no nation states with fixed borders to cross. A person was a Hebrew by virtue of birth, not citizenship. When the bible talks of a person being a “foreigner” it is talking about birth, not nationality. Our bishops caution against reckless reading of scripture that translates the biblical injunction to welcome the stranger and the foreigner into tacit acceptance of illegal immigration. Never-the-less, we cannot disregard Jesus’ example of radical openness to those outside His own ethnicity and heritage. And we cannot dismiss the reality that Jesus’ ministry of healing, as seen in today’s story, extended well beyond comfortable relationships and conventional social norms. It touched all because regardless of immigration status all of us our children of God.