Christ the King Sunday

 

Luke 23:33-43

Proper 29 / Year C

I’ve mentioned before the very first sermon I preached as a seminarian fell of Christ the King Sunday.  That year’s reading had Jesus riding into Jerusalem on a donkey.  This year we read of Jesus on the Cross.  The third year in the Lectionary cycle has Jesus being interrogated by Pilate.  None of these readings seem to reflect well on Christ as King.  If I was picking the lesson, I might choose Jesus ascending into heaven or perhaps giving the Sermon on the Mountain or calming a storm-ravaged sea.  That Sunday thirty-seven years ago I was so befuddled as I drove to church I had no idea what I was going to say in my sermon. 

Not much has changed for me over the years.  I expect to come to Christ the King Sunday and encounter something victorious like the Hallelujah chorus: “King of kings!  Lord of lords!” but find instead something more like a whimper and a sniffle.  Having lived the story of Christ over the course of an entire liturgical year, this hardly seems like a fitting conclusion. 

Still, the image of Jesus dying on the cross tells us something important about our King.  As he hangs on the cross battered and bloody, in agony, with his own flesh in taters, he has absorbed the very worst humanity can do to him.  And how does he respond?  Is he bitter?  Vindictive?  Broken?  No.  He remains true to his Godly character by showing mercy to another crucified human being and assuring him a place in paradise. 

Earlier this week in Morning Prayer we read this from the 105^th Psalm:

God has always been mindful of his covenant,

the promise he made for a thousand generations.

It speaks of God’s eternal changelessness; what theologians call immutability.  Nothing we can say or do will alter God’s love for us and God’s faithfulness to us.  These are not things we earn, but realities we embrace.  They are every bit as unbreakable as the physical laws of the universe.  It is this quality which we see Jesus display in today’s reading.  He remains true to his nature and steadfast in his mission, even as he is being crucified.

The Collect of the Day tells us much about the intent of Christ the King Sunday.  It tells us God’s purpose in Christ is to restore all things through Christ.  We need restoration because the world is divided and enslaved by sin.  We are freed by Christ and united to one another under his most gracious rule.  We see all of this being played out in the brief conversation Jesus has with the penitent thief. 

“Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.”  Jesus’ response, “Today you will be with me in paradise.”  The word here translated as paradise is the same word the Greek translation of the Old Testament uses for the Garden of Eden.  It provides a colorful image of restoration.  Jesus, being crucified at Golgotha, is about as far removed as possible from the idyllic setting of the God’s first garden.  But through his life, death, and resurrection he charts for us a path to paradise, a return to the garden.

Perhaps the most common way we use the word restoration is to describe work done on a run-down house or car.  It can be painstaking, but for those who undertake such a project it is also a labor of love.  And when the work is finished we say the house or car has been restored to its former glory.

And isn’t this what we celebrate about Christ’s reign in this world.  It is painstaking, as we see in today’s reading.  It is a labor of love.  And it is about restoring the glory we had before sin marred our lives and our world.  For the penitent man dying on the a cross the work is finished.  For us, it is on-going.  One of the reasons we walk through the church year is so we might better know God in Christ and more faithfully follow in the way Christ has shown us.  Today, the walks comes to an end.  Next Sunday it begins anew.

 

Head Up. Hear Open. To Better Days!

 

Proper 29 / Year C

Lue 21:5-19

This morning’s readings take us on a wild rollercoaster-like ride of highs and lows – from promises of restoration and long-life to warnings of imminent destruction and persecution.  Of these two visions we might want to ask, well, which will it be: the best of times or the worst of times?  The answer is both.  Life is rift with harsh realities, but there is always something hopeful which lies beyond.  Our readings direct our attention to this Gospel hope.

It is about 33 AD when Jesus makes his startling claim about the future destruction of the Temple.  By the time Luke writes down Jesus’ words some four decades later, it has come to pass.  The Roman army has sacked Jerusalem and torn down the spiritual and political center of Jewish life.  Christians, who initially functioned as a subset within Judaism, now are being persecuted for their faith.  It is the worst of times.

Isaiah writes some 600 years earlier to a people living in exile.  They too have seen their Temple destroyed – this time by the Babylonians.  Jerusalem is ruins and, of those not killed, everyone with any value has been forced from their homeland to live in servitude in Babylon.  But some time has passed, again about 40 years, and a new thing is about to happen.  An army from Persia is defeating the Babylonians and with each liberated city exiles are allowed to return home.  Isaiah foresees the best of times on the horizon.

So, our rollercoaster readings take us from destruction to restoration.  Did you notice what connects the two experiences?  It is the last thing Jesus says in today’s readings, “By your endurance you will gain your souls.”  While we cannot avoid the worst life throws at us, there is a possibility we will be transformed by these experiences. 

Friedrich Nietzsche wrote he wished for all he cared about “suffering, desolation, ill-treatment, [and] indignities” because he believed the only way to know what a person is worth is to observe how he or she endures.  Well, I would never wish adversity for anyone, but I do recognize how these experiences in my own life have developed capacities and characteristics I could have received in no other way.

The Rev. Sam Wells is a visiting professor in Christian Ethics from Kings College in London.  Earlier this year he spoke to people at St. Stephen’s Episcopal Church in Vestavia Hills, Alabama.  Four months later, on June 16, a gunman opened fire at an event in the Parish Hall and killed three parishioners before being subdued.  Four months after this devastating incident, Wells returned to help the people of St. Stephen’s make sense of what they have experienced. 

Wells highlighted four words which he believes describes how this tragedy has affected the people of the congregation:

·       Powerlessness – the realization we are vulnerable and, while some measures can be put in place, nothing can ensure our safety. 

·       Violation – what happened goes against everything the community holds dear.

·       Humiliation – becoming the people everyone pities or wants to avoid because they don’t know what to say.

·       Wells says, “Once these dramatic storm clouds have begun to separate just a little, what abides is a profound sadness” – the forth word.

He went on to make a distinction between the words hurt and damage:

When someone has been murdered, there’s the grief, fear, dismay, anger and harrowing loss among those left behind.  That’s the hurt, and, while it’s profound, permanent, and powerful, it can over time begin to find a place among other hurts in one’s own life and in the world.  But there’s also the physical reality of a person no longer being alive.  That’s something no one can do a single thing to change.  It’s unalterable. That’s the damage.

When it comes to hurt, he says, healing can happen, but depending on the severity of the wound, may take a long time.  The notion of healing is not an appropriate or helpful when applied to damage.  No amount of healing will bring back to life three dear souls who were killed.  Still, Wells suggests horror can turn into wisdom:

A broken limb can heal; a severed limb can’t.   That doesn’t mean we have to be stuck forever…  We need to recognise, painfully and slowly, but soberly, honestly and realistically, what can change and what can’t, and put our energies towards where transformation can still occur, ghastly as this situation is and will in many senses always remain.

Wells finished his talk with these words:

My real prayer is that [you], like Martha and Mary, will see the glory of God.  I pray that [you] will one day look back on this time as a season when [you] were most fully alive, more grateful than ever before for the birds that chirrup each morning, the taste of water or milk or cornbread, the wonder of having been born; that [you] will be in this time closer to [your] family and friends than ever before, able to express affections and articulate sentiments [you’d] never previously found ways to share; that [you’d] feel God’s presence in a wholly new way, that [you’d] recognise [yourself] as God’s child, created for God’s enjoyment, fulfilled in enjoying God in return…  A disaster or terrible setback can be the beginning of something wonderful, good and true, and not just… the end of all hopes, dreams and plans.

In all of this I hear the words of Jesus, “By your endurance you will gain your souls.”    

Orson F. Whitney, a 20^th century leader in the Church of Ladder-day Saints, said this:

No pain that we suffer, no trial that we experience is wasted.  It ministers to our education, to the development of such qualities as patience, faith, fortitude and humility.  All that we suffer and all that we endure, especially when we endure it patiently, builds up our characters, purifies our hearts, expands our souls, and makes us more tender and charitable, more worthy to be called the children of God.

T.J. Hodge, author of the book From Within I Rise, has developed a saying which has grown in him through all he has endured in life.   He lives his life based on this simple motto: “Head up.  Heart open.  To better days.”  I invite you to ponder this wisdom and to consider how your endurance through tough times has helped you to gain you soul.

 

God's Love for the Lacking

 

Luke 19:1-10

Proper 26 / Year C

Flannery O’Connor, in her essay “Mystery and Manners”, observed when fiction writers write about the rich, they are more concerned with what the person lacks than with what the person has.  Although St. Luke’s gospel is not fiction, he takes the same approach when he writes about Zacchaeus.  Luke lets us know who Zacchaeus is (the what he ‘has’) with two very brief descriptions: he is a tax collector and he is rich.  But Luke does not dwell on the benefits of Zacchaeus’ status; although we can be sure they are many.  He lives in the most prestigious neighborhood in Jericho and enjoys the best methods of transportation, the finest clothes, the most sumptuous foods, and all the privileges associated with affluence.

But what Luke wants us to know about Zacchaeus is not all of that.  He tells us what Zacchaeus lacks, although he does not spell 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.  We get the sense that Zacchaeus is isolated, that there is a hiddenness about him, that all his bravado is a mask for a deep-rooted sense of inferiority.  The local community rejects him because his occupation is little more than legalized extortion.  Luke is unable to identify a single important family member, friend, or acquaintance in Zacchaeus’ life.  And, perhaps most important, Zacchaeus is hiding from God.  While he may have been short in stature, we are given the impression Zacchaeus is even shorter in soul.  What does Zacchaeus lack?  He has everything the world offers, but nothing that comes from God. 

One critic of Flannery O’Conner observed “her characters are often crude, unkempt, and ill-educated.  Bereft of redeeming qualities and brimming with flaws, it is easy to be repelled by them and the path their lives are taking.”  Zacchaeus could easily be the subject of one of O’Conner’s short stories.  She observed, “There is something in us, as storytellers and as listeners to stories, that demands the redemptive act, that demands that what falls at least be offered the chance to be restored.”  She notes, “I have found, in short, from reading my own writing, that my subject in fiction is the action of grace in territory largely held by the devil.”  Again, Zacchaeus fits this mold.

How does the “action of grace” work on Zacchaeus?

The best sermon I ever heard about him had two simple points.  First, Jesus tells Zacchaeus “I love you where you are.”  Hiding in a Sycamore tree, cheating everyone 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 your help.  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 his ill-gotten gain, Jesus is able to look past all that is wrong with him in order to see what he lacks. 

No one had ever told Zacchaeus “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 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 if 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 tend to put qualifications on God’s love.  We are more comfortable with a Savior who says “Stop cheating people when you collect taxes, be a better parent, show more compassionate to people less fortunate than you, get to church more often, sing in the Choir, serve on Vestry and then maybe you will be worthy of my love.” 

The problem is, when we put these 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 you need to live the right kind of life before God can love you, then we are saying in effect, “Sinner, save yourself.”  This 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 this undeserved, unconditional love – to the action of grace in his life.  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 the meal, overjoyed with a new sense of love and purpose, and possessing 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 love comes first, purpose follows, and finally repentance and amendment of life are possible.  This is what O’Conner describes as “the action of grace” in a person’s life. 

St. Augustine believed we are created with a need for God – a God-shaped void in our souls.  He observed people try to fill their God space with everything else but God.  This is surely true of Zacchaeus and it points directly to what he lacks.  But Jesus does not demand Zacchaeus divest himself of all the corrupt and worldly ways he has crammed into the space where God alone should be.  He loves him and he calls him.  And as this sense of love and calling grows and grows and grows in the place only God can be, then and only then, is Zacchaeus ready and able to get rid of the stuff that does not belong in his life.  Redemption happens.

This is how God works.  This is how grace works.  This is how salvation comes to us throughout our lives.  Sometimes it is dramatic, other times it is a small step forward in the process of sanctification – of becoming the saints God created us to be.  More than one person has described the characters in Flannery O’Conner’s writing as being “grotesque.”  She wants them to be shocking and she wants the redemption they find to be shocking.  She wants to use them to wake up her readers; to shock them back into life; to discern how the action of grace might be at work in their own lives. 

What do you lack?

 

 

 

A Letter While I have Covid

 

Luke 18:9-14

Proper 25 / Year C

My Sisters and Brothers in Christ,

Well, I had a wonderful time on my pilgrimage.  Portugal and Spain are lovely countries and I so enjoyed walking with friends, new and old.  Last Monday I started to feel a little sketchy and then tested positive for Covid on Wednesday.  So, I am not with you again today.  I am so sorry.

Please  allow me to share just a few brief thoughts about this morning’s interesting parable. 

Have you ever known someone you would describe as contemptuous of others?  Perhaps you yourself are this person.  I know it doesn’t take much for me to look at other people and rate myself as vastly superior to them.  As you might guess, this happens most often at Wal-Mart.

Some people who are contemptuous use this as a defense mechanism to mask how poorly they actually think of themselves.  Others actually are better than everyone else around them—smarter, richer, healthier, more talented.  As the saying goes, for them it is hard to suffer fools.

The Pharisee in today’s parable seems to fall into this second category.  His self-assessment is spot on.  He is better than all the other people he names in his prayers.  When he leaves the Temple he goes with what he brought – a self-satisfaction he has made himself to be who and what he ought to be.

For the tax collector it is different.  He comes to the Temple wearing his brokenness and his pain and self-loathing on his sleeve.  His heart is wounded.  His soul is grieved.  He can barely look up to God, let alone come into God’s presence.  Still, he manages to utter one of the most powerful, poignant prayers found in all of Scripture: “God, be merciful to me, a sinner!” 

This man stands naked before God.  He hides nothing.  He does not pretend to be someone he is not.  There is no weighing of the scales to determine if he has done anything at all to merit God’s favor. 

But something miraculous happens.  There, in the Temple, he experiences God’s indescribable love.  It is a love which cannot be earned, only embraced.  The tax collector discovers that God’s world is a world of grace and goodness and it comes to each of us as gift, not through merit. 

After saying their prayers, the Pharisee and the tax collector leave the Temple.  One is satisfied he has done enough to be considered a good person.  The other has been bathed in the riches of all that God showers upon his children. 

Which of these would you rather be?

Keith+

 

Two Letters While I was Away

 

Luke 17:11-19

Proper 23 / Year C

Dear Brothers and Sisters in Christ,

The church where I grew up presented a bible to every child when he or she was in the 2nd Grade.  I still have mine in my office.  Covered in black leather with gold lettering, it is a copy of the Revised Standard Version, with a concordance.  My name is embossed in gold on the lower right-hand front of the cover.  The very first page indicates who it has been presented to.  Someone from the church went to the trouble of writing my name on this page and included the date: May 25, 1969. 

The person also referenced a bible verse: II Timothy 2:15.  It doesn’t include the verse, only its citation, which we heard read just moments ago:

Do your best to present yourself to God as one approved, a workman who has no need to be ashamed, rightly handling the word of truth.

It has always been one of my favorite verses in all of Scripture, I suspect, in part, because it was referenced in the bible given to me by my home church.

Even more, it has always felt like marching orders, of a sort.  If it was the only verse of the bible I had, it would chart a pretty good course for me to follow in life.  “Do your best to present yourself as one approved, with no need to be ashamed.”  I have strived to live up to this high standard and have not always made it. 

The biblical word for ’sin’ is a term used in archery and means “missing the mark.”  Sometimes you miss the mark because the arrow flies high or wide of the target.  Other times you miss the mark because the arrow never gets to the target.  This happens when the archer does not pull back the bowstring far enough.  In this sense, we “fall short” because we simply do not try hard enough to hit the target. 

I can honestly say when I have missed the mark of God’s high calling for me, it wasn’t for lack of trying.  I have done my best, but there have been times when it wasn’t good enough.

But, like the lepers Jesus meets in today’s gospel reading, I find myself being made “clean” by the grace of God.  Forgiveness is real and it is essential.  It is something for which I continually offer thanks.  It gives me confidence that my best, while not perfect, is good enough.  Thanks be to God.  May you know this spiritual peace in your heart and mind and soul as you strive to do your best.

Keith+

Luke 18:1-8

Proper 24 / Year C

My Sisters and Brothers in Christ,

According to Webster’s Dictionary, the word “persistence” means “a firm or obstinate continuance in a course of action in spite of difficulty or opposition.”  It comes to us from two Latin roots, one which means “forward” and the other which means “come to a stand.”  In this sense, persistence is a trait we exhibit by moving forward when forces want us to stand still.

It takes no small amount of persistence to navigate our way through life.  You will need great persistence if you are engaging with the health care system, an insurance claim of any kind, or just about anything having to do with government—especially the DMV or IRS.  If I ever get married again, my wife will be incredibly persistent in these areas, because I am not.  I expect the system to work after one call or visit.  Any more than two or three cracks at it and I give up.  I demonstrate anything but “obstinate continuation.”

When St. Paul writes his first letter to the church in Thessalonica he admonishes them to “pray without ceasing” (5:17).  Of course he is not directing them to be in church on their knees 24/7.  He is describing a spiritual mindset in which a person is in frequent, if not constant, communication with God. 

Jesus points to this posture as well in this morning’s reading from the gospel of Luke.  He wants to tell his followers why it is important to pray always and not to lose heart.  And, as he often does, Jesus makes his point by telling a story—a parable, which often has an ‘over the top’ quality to it.  Today’s parable is known as “The Persistent Widow and the Unjust Judge.”  In the story the judge refuses to do the right thing for a widow who has been wronged.  But because she is the epitome of obstinate continuation, he finally relents simply to get her out of his hair (and courtroom). 

Jesus asks his listeners this: “If the unjust judge who cares nothing for anybody will eventually do what you ask if you keep asking, how much more will our loving and caring God do for you?

There are some prayers we offer which take time to be answered.  One example—when you or a loved one is diagnosed with cancer.  A prayer pleading for it simply to go away—to disappear—most likely will go unanswered.  Remission and a clean bill of health will take months or even years.  It is easy (if not expected) to lose heart in the process. 

Praying ceaselessly looks like praying for an ultimate healing, but also praying for today.  What challenges do you face today?  Where or from whom will strength and encouragement come today?  Will I be able to handle a set back today?  Will I be able to experience the joy of living today, even though I am sick? 

This is what praying ceaselessly looks like and it is what Jesus encourages us to do.  It is how we are encouraged to approach all of life—firmly moving forward in life in spite of difficulty or opposition supported and encouraged by prayer.

Keith+

 

Small Steps toward Increased Faith

 

Luke 17:5-10

Proper 22 / Year C

The Apostles have been with Jesus for some time.  They have witnessed his miracles.  They have heard his profound teachings.  They have seen him challenge the corrupt establishment.  Each of his actions has been grounded in a captivating spirituality; enticing them from their homes and families and careers in order to follow Jesus from town to town and encounter to encounter. 

In today’s gospel reading the Apostles come to Jesus with a request: “Lord, increase our faith.”  “Help us to do what you do.”  That Luke says it is the Apostles who approach Jesus, not the broader, more diverse followers he calls ‘disciples’, is significant.  The Apostles are the ones who one day will be the leaders of the Early Church.  They will be the ones who travel much of the known world proclaiming Jesus as the Risen Lord.  They will be the ones who willingly welcome martyrdom rather than shrink back from their witness to the truth.

“Increase our faith.”  Jesus responds with two teachings.  First, he says if your faith is the size of just a tiny seed you will have the ability to uproot a tree and cast it into the sea.  Then he reminds them of the role of a servant who, after working in the field all day, still comes into the house and serves his master a meal; all the while believing he is doing merely what is required of him.

The image of the seed directs our attention not to the Red Sea-parting, spectacular acts of faith, but to the simple, basic, day-to-day encounters which come our way.  Your faith may be tested by the earthshaking events of your life, but it is built over time in small, perhaps imperceptible ways. 

Our prayers are with all of the people whose lives have been devasted by Hurricanes Fiona and Ian.  I cannot begin to imagine what they have endured, what they have lost, what they now bear, and what they will have to face.  If Jesus is right about faith being like a small seed than their challenges will have to be met one small step at a time.  They will have to be able to celebrate one small victory at a time.  Strong faith is able to detect God working in seemingly insignificant ways which, over time, redeem and transform the world. 

Today we celebrate St. Francis Day.  Now Francis did many fantastic things in his life.  He renounced his share of the family fortune and embraced a life of poverty.  He worked mightily to repair dilapidated church buildings across Europe.  He formed faith communities which changed and shaped the Western world; communities which thrive to this day.  He confronted corruption and apathy in the Church and initiated reforms bringing new life to a tired, crusty institution.

And given all these incredible things, what is it we remember most about Francis?  We remember he was kind to animals.  And we remember through his reference to brother sun and sister moon how Francis’ sense of spirituality was grounded in a vital connection with the beauty of nature.  Surely these are the smallest aspects of the great works he accomplished in life, but it is exactly their smallness which is most telling.

Every now and then, someone will say something to me like “I don’t know how a person can join the ordained ministry or become a missionary because I don’t have that kind of faith.”  I respond most people don’t seek ordination or a mission field because they have profound faith, but because they have a deep sense of being called by God.  I have heard colleagues describe fighting off the calling for a long time and never having peace until they embraced it.  I have never heard a colleague directly connect their ordination to having great faith.

Perhaps this surprises you, but it shouldn’t.  Faith is more closely related to the small acts than to a huge commitment.  Jesus said as much when he taught the person who is faithful in a little will also be faithful in much.  You increase your faith one small step at a time.

The story about the servant also says something significant about the ‘littleness’ of faith.  It suggests you build you faith not on the mountaintop, not in a great cathedral, not in the spectacular moment, but in the regular course of the daily round… where you live, in the common tasks you do, face-to-face with the people of your community.  It is formed and fashioned through attentiveness to others.  It is formed and fashioned by participation in community worship and perseverance in private prayer.  It is formed and fashioned through personal reflection.  It is formed and fashioned by applying what you know of the teachings of Christ to the mundane routines and unexpected encounters of your daily life.

Who among us wouldn’t want to have more faith?  Who among us doesn’t crave great personal reserves to draw upon when the chips are down?  Who among us wouldn’t like to have an inner strength which translates into profound outward action?  Jesus tells the Apostles their faith can grow, and will grow, if they commit themselves to doing it one small step at a time.

Heading Home

 

Luke 16:19-31

Proper 21 / Year C

I am trying to get my head around the fact two weeks from today I will be crossing from Portugal into Spain… on foot!  This will be the third pilgrimage I make with friends from our diocese and it has been three years in the offing; postponed in 2020 and 2021 by the pandemic.  On previous pilgrimages I have learned how, in this age of interstate highways, jet planes, and space travel, we humans are still hardwired to engage the world at a walking pace.  Anything more than this, while efficient, is not natural to who we are.  So I look forward to being with friends and living for nine days at a speed for which we all are ideally suited. 

I am not looking forward to the process of getting to Portugal or returning home.  Maybe it is due to limited travel since the onset of Covid, or maybe I am just getting old and set in my ways, but the flight itinerary – along with getting to Dulles Airport and going through customs – feels daunting.  There is a part of me that just wants to stay home.

We get why Laura Ingalls Wilder held “home is the nicest word there is.”  And now, with the days getting shorter, our homing instinct is becoming stronger.  Home is a place which can be both a safe haven and stifling, all at the same time.  Home, at its worst, is a place to hideout, disengaging from challenge and growth.

An author once wrote this after witnessing a bald eagle swoop down and take a fish out of a lake:

That magnificent bird had emerged from its fragile shell, as helpless as we were at birth.  But it survived, because of the nest.  Then feathers grew.  The eyes brightened.  The talons strengthened.  One day the bird stood poised upon the nest and all the future of its life lay before it, the vista vast, the glorious rivers and forests and fountains of the earth.  To take possession of it, however, he had to stretch his wings, take the daring leap, trust the air, have faith in whatever great eagle gods there are and go!  The instinct to fly and the instinct to nest met in that moment.  There comes a point in everyone’s spiritual life when that issue is joined and must be faced.

“Home,” T.S. Eliot observed, “is where one starts from.”  It is not necessarily a place to stay.  Bob Dylan once said, “I was born a long way from where I belong and I am on my way home.”  I was born a long way from where I belong.  Warsan Shire, a Somali-born British poet, posits, “At the end of the day, it isn’t where I came from.  Maybe home is somewhere I’m going and never have been.”

Walking pilgrimages have only served to reinforce for me this possibility.  It is why the metaphor of pilgrim and pilgrimage is one of the most popular ways to think of the Christian faith and life.  “Life,” Paulo Coelho holds, “is a long pilgrimage from fear to love.”  We are on a journey from where we are from to where we are going. 

We here this morning come from different places, backgrounds, and experiences, but we are all on a pilgrimage to the same place.  We are all headed toward our heavenly home.  And we hope, over the course of our pilgrimage through life, our lives will become more and more reflective of the way life will be lived when we are at home in God.  Our hope for this life, so beautifully expressed in today’s collect, is by God’s grace we who are running to obtain God’s promises may become partakers of God’s heavenly treasure.  Or, as Paul admonishes his protégé Timothy in today’s second lesson, “take hold of the life that really is life.”

I share all of this with you as a way to enter into this morning’s reading from the Gospel of Luke – the parable of the Rich Man (who feasts ‘sumptuously’ at every meal) and Lazarus, a poor, ailing beggar who day after day lays outside the gate of the rich man’s house, hoping for just a scrape of food to fall his way.  We can say of the rich man he is ‘home’, which is to say he is certain there is nothing more beyond what he already knows and has.  He estimates he is where he belongs.  He is on his way to nowhere.  There is nowhere he wants to go, which is a way of saying there is no one he feels a need to become. 

But, no matter how much he fails to consider the possibility, there is a home beyond his earthly home.  And even though his present home has its pantries stocked with the finest foods and its closets stuffed luxurious linens, there is a heavenly home which far surpasses this; not because it has grander material possessions, but because it is steeped in the glory of God and teems with pure affection for one another.

The Rich Man in the parable misses out on this not because of his wealth, but because of his indifference.  He displays none of the qualities Paul encourages Timothy to cultivate: righteousness, godliness, faith, love, endurance, and gentleness.  And some of Timothy’s flock must have been fairly well-to-do, because Paul writes this to the young pastor:

As for those who in the present age are rich, command them not to be haughty, or to set their hopes on the uncertainty of riches, but rather on God who richly provides us with everything for our enjoyment.  They are to do good, to be rich in good works, generous, and ready to share, thus storing up for themselves the treasure of a good foundation for the future.

None of this is possible until you leave the secluded privilege of your present setting in order to move toward the place and the person God would have you become; until you become aware of what is happening outside the door of your sheltered environment and respond to it.  Ernest Kurtz, author of the wonderfully titled book A Spirituality for the Imperfect, writes “A journey becomes a pilgrimage as we discover, day by day, that the distance traveled is less important than the experience gained.”  May you, day in and day out, experience something of your heavenly home and may it more and more become who you are, how you live, and what you have to offer to others.