The Akedah

 

 

This morning we hear again one of the most dramatic stories in all of Scripture.  Its Jewish title is the “Akedah” – the Binding of Isaac.  Just nineteen verses long (we did not read the last five this morning), it is noteworthy that this event is referenced nowhere else in the entire Old Testament.  No prophet, no psalmist, no king, no priest ever spoke of it or wrote about it in such a way that it made it into the biblical canon.

 

It is tempting to hold that the entire story was simply too toxic to touch, but, in fact, this is not true.  It is one of the most discussed and plummeted episodes not just in the bible, but in our entire culture.  Countless people down through the ages have reflected on one aspect of the story or another.  Ideas are explored, opinions put forth, and new insights continually emerge. 
 

For example, why did God want to test Abraham?  The Book of Jubilees, written two centuries before the birth of Jesus, connects this testing to the testing of Job.  Jubilees contends that a dark angel by the name of Mastema went to God and questioned whether Abraham’s faith was a strong as God believed.  This set in motion a testing just as Satan’s question about Job begins his ordeal.  According to Jubilees, Mastema and the angel Gabriel accompany Abraham and Isaac up the mountain and Gabriel eventually intervenes to save the child. 
 

What does Abraham think of all this?  Some rabbis writing material contained in the Talmud and Midrash hold that he is stoic and obedient while others contend that he is wracked with guilt and washed over with distress.  And what about Isaac?  Does he have any idea what is about to happen?  Does he resist or submit?  Is he afraid or does he have faith?  Some suggest that he actually asks to be bound so that he is not able to flinch at the last second and ruin the sacrifice. 
 

There is a 15^th century work called The Brome Play.  It is a short drama performed by a travelling band out of the back of a wagon.  The only characters in the play are Abraham, Isaac, God, and the angel.  As the drama unfolds Abraham confesses to Isaac about the impending sacrifice.  Isaac, puzzled, asks what he has done wrong.  Nothing, Abraham replies.  God requires it.  Isaac accepts his duty, but Abraham begins to waver. 
 

Isaac:

And is it God’s will that I should be slain?

Abraham:   

Yea, truly, Isaac, my son so good,

and therefore my hands I wring.

Isaac:          

Now, father, against my Lord’s will

I will never complain loud or still:

He might a send me a better ending

If it has a been his will.

Abraham:   

Forsooth son, unless I did this deed

Grievously displeased our Lord would be.

Isaac:         

Nay, nay father, God forbid

that ever ye should grieve him for me…

Therefore do the Lord’s bidding,

and when I am dead, pray for me.

But father, tell ye my mother no thing.

Say I am in another country dwelling.

Abraham:  

A, Isaac, Isaac, blessed may thou be.

My heart beginneth strongly to rise

to see the blood of thy blessed body.

Philosophers from Augustine to Kant to Kierkegaard have seen in this story how the ethical becomes suspended by the religious.  In his 1920 poem Upon the Altar, Yitzhak Lamdan sees in it the trials of Jews down through the ages, always being sacrificed and offered up to God.  Bob Dylan even wrote a song about it:

Oh God said to Abraham, “Kill me a son"

Abe says, “Man, you must be putting me on”

God say, “No.”  Abe say, “What?”

God say, “You do what you want Abe, but

The next time you see me comin’ you better run”

Well, Abe says, “Where do you want this killin’ done?”

God says, “Out on Highway 61”

As I said, there a wide array of folks who have looked at this story down through the ages. 

I spent the week reading James Goodman’s book But where is the lamb?  In it he explores the way this narrative has been imagined and reimagined over the centuries.  He attributes the vast diversity of thought to two factors.  First, the story itself is so dramatic and its primary characters demand or do things we would never expect.  And second, the narrative is so utterly economical and lean.  While it tells much, it leaves out even more: God’s motivation, Abraham’s thoughts, Isaac’ understanding, and more.  These gaps invite reflection and interpretation and keep the story always alive and always fresh. 

And it is possible for the same person to turn it and see something completely different than he saw years before.  I hope you had a chance to see the e-news that came out on Friday.  In it I included pictures of two works by Rembrandt inspired by this story.  The first, an oil painting, was done in 1634.  In it, Abraham forcefully holds down his bound son.  His arm is cooked, but a small angel flying above him has grabbed it and the knife is falling.  Abraham seems startled that the proceeding has been interrupted.  He is prepared to do his duty and is puzzled that it is suspended.

Rembrandt’s second work is an etching completed in 1655, twenty-one years later.  By this point in life, the artist has had to bury children and now has only one son.  It goes without saying that he possesses a much broader and deeper emotional experience than when he did the oil.  In the etching, Abraham holds Isaac close to himself.  There is an angel behind him whose wings fan out from one edge of the work to the other.  This angel has both arms wrapped around Abraham in an embrace so tight and intimate that the arm with the knife is unable to move.  The angel is so close it appears to whisper in Abraham’s ear and he is turning to face God’s messenger.  In this second work, Abraham appears not to be startled but emotionally exhausted.  This experience has taken a toll on him, just as life has taken a toll on the great artist who created it.  Yet, through it all, the more he has gone through the closer he has experienced God to be.

Reflecting on the insights of current biblical scholars, Goodman writes,

“The story we know can only be understood in the context of [God’s promise to make Abraham’s offspring a mighty nation] and the threats to [this promise], which means in the context of the entire Abraham cycle.  It begins with God’s first call and command (give up your past) and God’s promise (I will bless you) and proceeds from there, ever so slowly, characterized by confusion about both the promise and the plan, by questions about who was going to get what when, by uncertainty and doubt, by snares and detours, by heartaches, grave threats, and near death.  Nothing is for certain.  Nothing comes easy – without testing, trial, without degradation.”

I think the older Rembrandt would applaud this statement.  Perhaps more than anything else, the Akedah speaks to the reality that life is not always blue skies and seashells.  There are times when it is downright gritty and gut-wrenching.  Faith is not for the faint of heart.  The only way through life is the way of testing, trial, and degradation – what Jesus calls the Way of the Cross.

The person of faith will exhibit both obedience (as did the Abraham in Rembrandt’s oil) and reflection (as we see in the etching).  The French philosopher Emmanuel Levinas believes that the key moment in the narrative is when Abraham drops the knife.  “That Abraham obeyed the first voice,” writes Levinas, “is astonishing: that he had sufficient distance with respect to that obedience to hear the second – that is essential.”

Well, in addition to my “copious” research, I spent the week in conversation with several colleagues who also were eager to gain a deeper understanding of the Akedah.  The finest insight I received came from that noted theologian, choir member, food pantry volunteer, and bulletin folder, our own Nancy Bangley.  When I told her I was reading about the story of Abraham sacrificing Isaac, she looked off into the distance and said, “Well, sometimes life is really difficult and you don’t know what to do, and then – puff (as she said this she waved her arms in a big circle) – God shows you the way to go and everything is OK again.”  That just may be the single best summation of this story in the last 3,000 years!

We all have had our Akedah moments of testing, trial, and challenge.  More await us in the days and years to come.  At these times, if we locate the moment in this story, some of the following thoughts emerge for us to ponder:

·   Why is this happening?  Did I cause it?  Is God behind it?  Is the only reason this is happening is because it is?

·   How is this moment affecting me?  Have I distanced myself from my emotions or have my emotions taken over?  Either way, is it helpful or not?  Am I thinking clearly?  Who can I share this with in order to gain the wisdom and perspective of another?

·   Where is God in all of this?  If I don’t know, then can I trust that God is present and have faith that I will see and sense God at some point in the future?  Do I believe as Abraham did, that on this ‘mount’ the Lord will provide?

·   What is the ‘knife’ I have to drop?  What is the thing I must let go of in order to transform this awful moment into something holy and grace-filled?

 

Hagar & Ishmael

Today’s Old Testament reading is part of a larger narrative and needs to be put into context.  For years, Abraham and Sarah have been playing out a drama related family, inheritance, and faith.  God has promised that Abraham will be the father of a mighty nation.  In order for this to happen he must have at least one son.  The problem is that Abraham is old and Sarah is well past the child-bearing age, so she takes matters into her own hands.  She owns an Egyptian slave girl by the name of Hagar (the bible gives us no indication of how Hagar came to be in her possession, but tradition holds she was the daughter of the Pharaoh and was given as a gift).  Sarah offers Hagar to Abraham.  It is an act that, on the surface, appears selfless, but is also faithless.  Sarah does not trust in God’s ability to fulfill a promise.  Abraham, not surprisingly, accepts her offer and while this doesn’t fit with what we think of “bible teaching about marriage”, it was in keeping with the customs of time.

One of the amazing things about this story is that while Abraham and Sarah are the main characters, our moral sympathy lies with Hagar, the slave.  No one asked her if she wanted to be given to Abraham, just as they surely didn’t ask her if she wanted to be a slave or to leave Egypt.  Neither Abraham nor Sarah even speaks about Hagar using her given name.  They only talk about her as “my slave girl” or “your slave” – robbing her of her humanity, her dignity, and her basic rights.  Sarah goes so far as to say the child Hagar bears will not belong to her, but to Sarah. 

It comes as no surprise that after she conceives Hagar looks on Sarah with contempt.  Nor is it surprising that Sarah becomes bitter about the plan she hatched as it comes to pass.  She projects her anger on to Abraham who, in turn, disassociates himself from any responsibility and puts the whole mess back in Sarah’s lap.  And what is the end result?  Hagar, pregnant, alone, and in a foreign country, must flee into the barren wilderness.

There, in the desert, an amazing thing happens.  God appears to Hagar just as God appeared years ago to Abraham.  For the first time in the bible, God demonstrates a quality that will become central to Hebrew and Christian theology, namely that God sees affliction and comes to the rescue of those wrongly persecuted.  God makes a promise to Hagar and also a demand.

The promise: that God will make a multitude of her son’s offspring and that this multitude will be given a land, albeit the desert; a promise on par with the one made to Abraham.

The demand: Hagar must return to Sarah and submit to her.

Return to the place you were treated so badly seems like an odd request, but it is made by the same God who Jesus says cares for every bird that falls and numbers every hair on our head.  That Hagar takes comfort in God’s promise and acts on God’s demand demonstrates she alone in this narrative comes close to having what we think faith to be.

So Hagar gives birth to a son that Abraham names Ishmael.  While we don’t read it in today’s lessons, it is interesting to note that when Abraham makes a covenant with God, Ishmael is the next person after Abraham to enter into the covenant through the sign of circumcision.  Out of a dubious beginning Abraham receives a son whom he truly loves.

And then some thirteen years later Sarah gives birth to Isaac.  For a brief time the step-brothers exist peacefully in what surely was a shaky family arrangement.  Then, in the reading we heard this morning, Sarah catches the older Ishmael ‘playing’ with the much younger Isaac.  Now the Hebrew word translated as ‘playing’ contains some dark overtones.  Some bibles translate it as ‘mocking’ – Ishmael was mocking Isaac.  Beyond this (and here comes a PG-13 warning) the word hints at sexual molestation.  (In Genesis 39, where Potiphar’s wife is unsuccessful in her attempts to seduce Joseph, she tells others that Joseph tired to make ‘sport’ of her by sleeping with her – and ‘sport’ is the same verb as play or mock.)  Two other traditions are worth noting.  One holds that Ishmael was making pagan idols and sacrificing insects before them.  This kind of “play” would have been a bad influence on Isaac.  Another tradition is more direct.  It holds that Ishmael was using a bow to shoot arrows at his 3-year-old step-brother.

Well, whatever Sarah observes taking place between Ishmael and Isaac, her reaction is immediate and volatile; Hagar and Ishmael must be cast from the house, expelled from the land, and cut out of any inheritance.  Abraham delays.  That this is not an easy decision indicates he has some affection for Ishmael and Hagar.  Abraham then has a dream that God will protect and bless the two.  Only then does he send them off with provisions.  But Abraham, who in the past has demonstrated gracious hospitality to visitors and generously with his nephew Lot, only provides the mother and son with a loaf of bread and some water.  These meager rations, while amounting to little more than a death sentence, also provide a Eucharistic image of God’s presence and care.  When the provisions run out, Hagar and Ishmael are in dire straits.  God comes to her again, promises blessings, and reveals the location of nearby water, the source of life in the desert. 

Ishmael is the displaced rival, the birthright will go to the younger boy, but God’s blessing goes to both.  In time Ishmael will father twelve sons who become the pillars of the Arab people.  Muslims will trace their ancestry to Abraham though him.

Over the years, extra-biblical stories continue to emerge about Ishmael, just as they do about Abraham.  Both Jewish and Islamic traditions hold that Abraham made journeys into the desert to visit Hagar and Ishmael.  Muslims locate Mecca as the site where God revealed the water and gave the blessing.  Here, Abraham discovers the ka’aba – the large black cube said to have been built by Adam.  Damaged by the flood in Noah’s time, Abraham and Ishmael come together to restore it.  When their work is completed Abraham calls on all creation to make a hajj, or pilgrimage to Mecca – an act which to this day remains one of the five pillars of Islam.

Other legend stories are not so kind.  For instance, one story in Judaism (but not the bible) contends that God put nine-tenths of all that is repulsive in life into the Arab people, and only one-tenth of all that is good.  Such stories are little more than reflections of strained relations between Judaism and Islam at the time of their authorship, but they have a way of coloring our world-view even today.  It is an understanding that cannot be supported by the narratives in Genesis. 

Many Christians hold that God rejects Ishmael and has little regard for Hagar.  In the supplanting of the older by the younger, St. Paul sees a metaphor of the Law being supplanted by the Gospel.  As such, we in the Christian tradition have been happy to relegate Hagar and Ishmael to the shadows.  This too is not good.

The Genesis narratives call on us at least to do the following:

·   To acknowledge the moral complexities of life.

·   To understand that faith and faithfulness are the not exclusive domain of those within our own tradition.

·   To confess the injustices those in our tradition have committed and to repent of ramifications in our own day.

·   To recognize that God’s blessing, God’s concern, God’s providential care, and God’s heart lies with Ishmael and his descendants as much as it lies with Isaac and those of us who trace our ancestry through him.

·   To keep in mind that families are fragile and delicate entities whose balance and harmony are easily lost as one person’s actions affect the entire group.  Acts of faithlessness send shockwaves through those closest to us.

·   To trust that if God cares for even the smallest creatures then God cares for us; that we who trust in God remain in God’s care and keep.  Even Hagar and Ishmael, bit actors in the salvation story we tell and teach, were guarded and governed by God.

·   To strive to create in our own world in our own time a harmonious family of faith that Abraham desired, but failed to achieve between his sons Ishmael and Isaac.

This one final thought… if Abraham is the father of our faith, than we might want to think of Hagar as our mother in affliction.  She was the first person in the Genesis story to be treated harshly and unjustly.  And that treatment elicits from God and compassion that remains true to this day.  As one scholar puts it,

“Hagar stands for all women exploited, abused, rejected.  She is the alien without rights, the woman who faces her pregnancy alone, the wife divorced for the sake of another woman, the homeless woman, the welfare mother, the woman who lives for others, works for others, serves others and then finds herself abandoned.”

If we don’t care for how Hagar is treated in these stories then perhaps we need to rethink our attitudes about and concern for women like her in our own day.  Surely God cares about them as much as God cared about Hagar.

 

Method and Meaning

I remember vividly the first day of my class in 9^th grade biology.  The teacher approached the blackboard, picked up a piece of chalk, and in silence wrote out the letters G O D.  He stepped back, looked at it for a while, moved down the blackboard, and then wrote ‘Evolution’.  He let a moment or two pass for reflection then moved back to the board and drew a line between the two words he had written, indicating that the two concepts were separate and mutually exclusive.  After more silence, he picked up an eraser, moved to the board, and wiped away the word “God”.  Those of us with faith protested vehemently and he took great delight refuting the best arguments we thirteen year olds could muster.

Fast forward to my senior year at a Christian college where a group of my friends – devout and conservative to the core – ran the school newspaper.  Given this platform, they launched an assault on the school’s science department, accusing them of being too dismissive of creationism (a term that, in 1982, I had never heard before).  I remember one professor – a God-fearing, church-going man – standing before a student forum and with great angst confessing that he had read all the creationism material and, try as he might, could not embrace it.

Creationism, it seems to me, is grounded in a belief that holds if the bible is not infallible in all things then it cannot be trustworthy in anything.  From their perspective, if creation did not unfold over six days (just like it says in Genesis 1) then what in the bible can you believe?  It is the same reason why some people look for a wooden ark at the top of a mountain, Egyptian chariots at the bottom of the Red Sea, and any example of a person being swallowed by a whale and surviving.  For them, the more you can nail down a specific detail of the bible the more confident you can be of the whole bible.  It is an all or nothing approach and in some respects, the biology teacher came to the bible in the same way, the only difference being he chose ‘nothing’ over ‘all’.

We Episcopalians hold that every word of the bible does not have to be literally true in order for God to speak to us through it.  Take this morning’s beautiful reading from the first chapter of the Book of Genesis.  I am moved every time I hear it, especially if I lay aside what it says about the method of creation and listen intently for what it says about the meaning of creation.  What it says about meaning is not diminished even if what is says about method is not entirely accurate.  If you listen to the story so as to derive from it a “God-revealed method” (as creationists do), then you quickly move from hearing to trying to get a round biblical peg to fit into a square scientific hole.  But if you listen for meaning, the story opens up into something rich and wonderful.

As we listen to it in this way this is what we begin to hear:

¡ God exists as the sole creative force moving in and through all creation.  We rightly affirm this in Eucharistic Prayer C when we say,

At your command all things came to be: the vast expanse of interstellar space, galaxies, suns, the planets in their courses, and this fragile earth, our island home. 

By your will they were created and have their being.

Richard Dawkins and Stephen Hawking may believe that everything came about out of nothing and there is no need to posit the existence of God to explain reality, but we hold different.  Every masterpiece is painted by an artist, every great music score has a composer, and every breath-taking poem has an author.  Our faith is that something critical is lost when you ignore the Producer and only look at the product.  

¡ If we listen carefully we can hear that creation itself is part of an unfolding and surprising drama.  “God said, ‘Let there be light’; and there was light.  And God saw that the light was good.”  There does not appear to be a blueprint.  With each day and each act, God pauses, reflects, and evaluates.  It is as if God must survey the impact of each step.  And seeing the results, God is pleased.  With each day and each new act, God appears to take it all in.  One act begets another.  There is a certain connectedness to what God creates, with each building on what has come before.

¡ Of all that is created, humanity holds a unique distinction in that we are made in God’s image and likeness.  Being thus made, we are able to fulfill God’s command to have ‘dominion’ over all creation.  The Hebrew word for ‘dominion’ (rada) implies care-giving and nurturing, never exploitation.  God entrusts to humanity the on-going care for and development of what God has brought into being.  The journey continues and the future is largely in our hands.  We are entrusted with the care and keep of all things.  It is within our power to protect the earth and all living things and it is within our power to damage or to destroy them.

¡ When God surveys all that has come about in creation God sees that it is “very good”.  Creation is not perfect.  Nothing, short of God, is.  But our fragile island home is a good place, filled with God’s blessing.  Through human work and effort the journey of creation continues to unfold in magnificent and wonderful ways.  We are blessed to have an abundance of food, shelter from the elements, access to healthcare, recreation, and the arts.  We have the ability to ensure that every human being can share in these blessings, but it takes work: the work of world peace and developing economies so that each person can benefit and grow from the fruits of his or her own labor and efforts.  The earth will support us all if we manage it well, strive for peace, respect the dignity of every human being, and treat others as we would like them to treat us.  Wendall Berry, the Kentucky farmer and poet put it best: “Treat the people downstream the way you would like the people upsteam to treat you!”

These are some of the things we hear when we listen for meaning embedded in the creation story.

This morning we heard God’s first command to the human family: “Be fruitful, multiply, fill the earth, subdue it and have dominion.”  In the Gospel reading we heard God’s last command: “Go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you.”  As we listen for meaning we are called to proclaim meaning.  This is precisely where we differ from creationists.  They listen for method in order to proclaim method.  It matters not if a person believes God created the world in 144 hours (six days).  What matters is how God calls a person to be a part of creation. 

Today we celebrate the Creator God who has brought into being all that is and given it into our hands.  We people of faith believe there is a right way to use this gift, to express our divine nature, and to honor the God who has entrusted it to us.  We proclaim our faith to the world, both through our words of worship and through our daily actions.  Rather than pursue an antagonizing debate about the method of creation we focus on the meaning, embracing insights derived through technology and our God-given reason, but always knowing that the works of our hands and minds will never tell us about the intent and purpose behind all that is.  Only the Master Painter, Composer, Poet, Author of all that is can lead us down the path of this pursuit, the pursuit of meaning. 

 

The Holy Spirit's "Basic Plan"

 

Pentecost Sunday: the day we celebrate the gift of the Holy Spirit.  Of all the significant holy days in the liturgical year, perhaps this one feels the least “Episcopalian” of all.  In fact, it might not even measure up to the days we remember the metaphysical poets John Donne and George Herbert (or maybe that is just me).  We Episcopalians (known in some circles as “God’s frozen chosen”) are not likely to start dancing in aisle, swooning in the Spirit, or babbling the language of an unknown dialect.  Batting balloons in the air at the Passing of the Peace will push us to the limit.  No, this seems like a day for other Christians – for Pentecostals and Charismatics, for faith healers and snake handlers.

 

Is the Holy Spirit for us?  Is there any way we can claim this day for ourselves, given our less than ecstatic experience of the third Person of the Trinity?

 

Pentecost is an ancient Jewish festival – one of the three most sacred of the year.  Falling fifty days after the Passover, it celebrates the first fruits of the spring harvest and commemorates the giving of the Law to Moses on Mt. Sinai.  These links are largely lost to us today because it is also the day the Holy Spirit came upon the disciples for the first time and gave birth to the Christian church.  That day, the Spirit transformed a rag-tag, quizzical, and lost group of bewildered followers into gifted, energized, and passionate leaders who proclaimed the Gospel with such power it changed the world.

 

Every Sunday, before the beginning of the early service, I gather with the lector and offer this prayer:

 

Gracious heavenly Father, we thank you for this opportunity to worship you and to praise you most holy Name.  Bless us now, so that all that we say and do – every thought, word, act, and gesture – might bring honor and glory to you and to your Son, Jesus Christ our Lord.  We ask these things in his name.

 

And then a couple of years ago it dawned on me that the prayer addressed only 2/3rds of the Trinity so I amended it:

 

We ask these things in his name, mindful of the power and presence of your Holy Spirit.  Amen.

 

I really do believe in the power and presence of the Holy Spirit, here, in this service and in every aspect of our lives. 

 

As best as I can tell from Scripture, the Holy Spirit is God’s gift to all people in all times and places.  The more dramatic manifestations of the Spirit – tongues and the like – seem to be isolated and local, appearing in the New Testament in just a few specific communities.  Much has not changed over the centuries.  The Spirit is present throughout the church, but only here and there is it manifested in what for some are spectacular ways, while for others are curious at best.  I suspect that those of us who are on the Holy Spirit’s ‘basic plan’ do just fine with our faith without having the ‘premium package’ and all its special and exotic features.

 

Let me describe the ‘basic plan’ by naming two primary ways “the power and presence of the Holy Spirit” is at work in our midst.  Each flows from a distinctive meaning of the word paracletus – the Greek word used by the bible to describe the Holy Spirit.   

 

The more common use of paracletus means ‘advocate’ – one who draws close and stands with us in a time a need; one who takes up our cause as his own.  In the Greek usage, this person could be a defense attorney, a doctor, or a supportive friend.  Alan Jones, former Dean of Grace Cathedral in San Francisco, once wrote that there are three times when the Holy Spirit is most present in our lives: “In the unpredictable, in the place of risk, and in those areas over which we have no control.”  Are not these the times when we desperately need God by our side. 

 

I see the power and presence of the Holy Spirit time and again when a family pulls together to face a crisis, when prayerful church leaders determine to meet a challenge head-on, when an individual at the end of her rope entrusts herself to God’s care and keep.  These are the kinds of moments we allow God to do for us and through others what we cannot possibly do on our own.  It is the strength we find in grief, the courage we find in fear, the trust we find when faced with something beyond our abilities.  This is the Holy Spirit we all know and this is the Holy Spirit we celebrate today.

 

There was a second use of the word paracletus.  It was a military position of sorts.  Once a general determined to go to battle, he would gather the troops and call upon a skilled orator to address them.  This person, known as the paracletus, was charged with delivering a rousing speech that would make even the bleakest situation appear to be winnable.  It is from such moments that we get the expression “It is time to fire up the troops.”  The paracletus was today’s equivalent of the coach speaking to the team at halftime or the motivational speaker brought in to address a company’s employees.  The goal was to lift up morale and to prepare the audience for the work ahead.

 

Look at the disciples gathered in that closed room.  They lack leadership, drive, purpose, initiative, and direction.  This is hardly a fighting force to take on the world, let alone preach is such a way that 3,000 people will be baptized by sundown.  All of that is before the paracletus goes to work bringing fire, but more importantly lighting a fire is each one of them.  The Spirit becomes in them what Jesus talked about in today’s Gospel reading, “out of a believer’s heart shall flow rivers of living water.”

 

I see this living water and this passion moving in and through our congregation.  I see it when the choir attempts an anthem I might have thought beyond their ability and yet they dive in with confidence and perform it beautifully.  I see it when a father, son, and son-in-law stand a grill and with great joy cook burgers and hotdogs for our picnic.  I see it at all the odd hours I stumble in here and find Miko hard at work cleaning a place that she deeply loves.

 

But the Holy Spirit as paracletus does much more than light a fire in us for ministry.  It also lights a fire in us for life itself, in all of its many glorious and divergent manifestations.  Bishop Hollerith is fond of saying to the clergy of the diocese that if we don’t have a passion in life for something that exists beyond the bounds of the church than we are going to be pretty boring people and priests.  My colleagues are passionate about things like bird watching, sustainable gardening, kayaking, cooking, playing the ukulele, creating graphic novels of biblical stories, flipping houses, running, drinking Starbuck’s coffee, hanging out with grandchildren, writing poetry, hunting, fishing, golf, and tennis.  The bishop himself has spent years making a steam powered boat, machining all the parts by hand.  Me, I am known for bike riding and home renovations.  I suspect that each of us finds in our particular passion a fire for life as God intends it, lived in goodness, thankfulness, and enthusiasm.

 

William Blake, the 19^th Century Romantic painter and poet, who had a deep, mystical bent running through his spirit, wrote this in a poem about Pentecost:

 

Unless the eye catch fire, God will not be seen.
Unless the ear catch fire, God will not be heard.
Unless the tongue catch fire, God will not be named.
Unless the heart catch fire, God will not be loved.
Unless the mind catch fire, God will not be known.

 

This is exactly the work of the Paracletus – Advocate and Energizer.  It is this Spirit that we celebrate today and invite anew into our lives.  It is this Spirit we depend upon for counsel and comfort when times are dark and demanding.  It is this Spirit we welcome as the fire of our eyes, ears. tongue, heart, and mind so that life might be for us truly alive, flowing with rivers of living water.

 

Reflections on Glory

There are 21 chapters in the Gospel of John and 5 of them – 24% – are devoted to events that took place during the Last Supper in the upper room on what we now celebrate as Maundy Thursday.  Now, while the gospel wasn’t written with chapter divisions (that was something added in the 13^th century) there is a considerable amount of emphasis and weight given to this meal.

On this evening Jesus gives his disciples an example to follow by washing their feet.  He announces that one of the twelve will betray him.  He breaks bread and shares it.  He gives a new commandment (that we are to love one another as he has loved us).  And he tells his followers that he will be leaving them soon, but will send another – the Holy Spirit – to lead them.  All of this unfolds in chapters 12-16.

As they are gathered together in the intimate setting of that space, chapter 17 begins with this brief introduction,

“Jesus looked up to heaven and said…”

The remainder of the chapter contains what scholars refer to as Jesus’ “High-Priestly Prayer” and when the prayer is finished the meal concludes and the group heads to the Garden of Gethsemane where Jesus will pray alone before being arrested.

The dinner prayer itself provides fascinating insight into the life of the Holy Trinity in that it allows us to be privy to words spoken by the Son to the Father.  We get a sense of the mutuality and respect that exists in the heart of God.  The words Jesus uses are very familiar to us in the church,

“Glorify your Son so that the Son may glorify you.”

“Glorify me in your presence with the glory that I had in your presence before the world began.”

We began today’s service praising God by saying, “Glory to God in the highest…”  Glory is a very familiar, churchy word, but what exactly does it mean?  What is the exchange of glory between the Father and the Son all about?  What glory did Jesus have before the world began and what happened to it so that it needs to be restored?  And what might the answers to these questions mean to us beyond being a nice, safe, polite doctrinal conversation?  In other words, what difference does it make to us here and now?

Merriam-Webster Dictionary on-line suggests that glory has something to do with praise, honor, and thanksgiving.  It also has something to do with renown – distinction extended by common consent.  It hints at great beauty, grandeur, and splendor.  The site provided the following examples of ways glory is used:

· As a young soldier he dreamed of winning military glory.

· He now has only a few trophies to remind him of the glory of his athletic career.

· Let us give glory to God.

· The glory of the town is its fountain.

· an art exhibit showing off the glories of ancient civilizations.

· The new owners are trying to restore the company to its former glory.

· The beautiful art reminds us of the glory of the empire.

These different uses suggest to me that glory has something to do with what we value and esteem.  It has something to do with acknowledging a person or entity or thing that has achieved its highest potential.  The act of giving glory is a way of establishing the appropriate weight or place for what is glorified (for example, the town with the impressive fountain locates its source of worth and value in the fountain rather than, say, in a corner gas station). 

This raises a question for us: do we value things as we ought; are our priorities in order?  On a temporal level, what happens if the town with a fountain gets a new Target store?  Do the people of the community get caught up in what is new and exciting?  What do they lose when they lose a sense of the town’s glory be tied to the magnificent fountain?  On a spiritual level, what do we lose if we do not esteem God with the glory that God deserves?   What if, in our heart of hearts, we locate glory in something else; perhaps money or personal appearance or job performance or sexual prowess? 

When Jesus prays “glorify your Son so that the Son may glorify you”, I get the sense he seeks to be in that place or state that existed previously, something akin to the new owners trying to restore the company to its former glory.  In his letter to the Christians in Philippi, St. Paul touches on this:

Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself, by taking the form of a servant, being born in human likeness.  And being found in human form, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross.  Therefore God has highly exalted him and bestowed on him the name that is above every name, so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father. (2:5-11)

The passage, which scholars believe actually was an ancient hymn, suggests something paradoxical: namely, glory comes to those who do not seek it.  In fact, some of the people we glorify the most are those who humble themselves and give themselves to others asking nothing in return. 

Vanna Bonta, who is described as American poet, novelist, essayist, actress, inventor, and model, once wrote, “Fame is not the glory!  Virtue is the goal, and fame only a messenger, to bring more to the fold.”  Athletic or military glory is never achieved without sacrifice, dedication, hard work, courage, and (above all) a care and concern for others.  We recognize the glory of an achievement, but it never stands apart from the virtues that it stands upon.  Jesus is honored with the name above all names not because he demanded all glory, laud, and honor be given to him, but because of what he gave up and how he went about God’s work.

Jesus makes these three statements in his prayer:

“I finished the work that you gave me to do.”

“I have made your name known to those whom you gave me.”

“Your words that you gave to me I have given to them.”

The prayer suggests that Jesus came into this world with a sense of purpose.  He knew what he was supposed to do and by doing these things the Father deems him to be worthy of glory. 

I wonder to what degree each one of us comes into this world with a purpose.  Some suppose there is a very specific way to walk set before us.  Others emphasize the importance not of the path you choose but the person you are and what you do while on that path.  The world is poorer with the passing of Maya Angelou but so much richer for her life.  In an interview in 1990, she said, “I believe that each of us comes from the creator trailing wisps of glory.”  You and I have a purpose.  Even if what you achieve affects and influences only a few people, or even if it is known only by you, God esteems you with a measure of glory.  God measures and values you as you ought to be, even (and sadly) if others do not.  Again, Maya Angelou once said, “One isn’t necessarily born with courage, but one is born with potential.  Without courage, we cannot practice any other virtue with consistency.  We can’t be kind, true, merciful, generous, or honest.”  Do you have the courage to seek your potential?

Let me say one final word about St. Paul’s and glory of the past.  If you look around this church building, you might naturally and accurately assess that it is a beautiful symbol of the glories of a previous age; an age when people of means came together to commission craftsmen and artisans to create something far more magnificent than we could accomplish today.  Yes, it was impressive how generations before us built this place to glorify the Lord.  But week in and week out, this place is something much more than a museum displaying only the works of the past.  We are a living community gathered to glorify God in a way that helps us put all of life in perspective.  We joyfully and passionately set out to do the works God has given us to do.  When need arises we live life courageously, compassionately, and selflessly.  I believe that God looks on all of this and is glorified.  And I believe that our devotion to God and commitment to one another is worthy of glory.  This is what makes us an attractive, active, and vital faith community. 

Perhaps the most beautiful church I have served was located in a small Iowa town.  It was on the National Historic Registry, a designation we should want this place to avoid like the plague!  One Sunday I asked for individual members to describe what they thought was the church’s most magnificent, most beautiful, most glorious feature.  One person said it was the woodwork at the high altar (and believe me, it was an exquisite piece crafted by a person who had done work for the Queen of England).  Another person suggested it was the stained glass windows, most of which were crafted by Meyer of Munich, Germany, but also (like us) included a Tiffany or two.  When everyone who wanted had chimed in, I said, “Do you know what I think the most beautiful part of our church is?  It is you, the people!”  That has been true of every congregation I served and it is true here.  I thank God for the glory that is you all and for the privilege I have to be with you as your Rector.