A Transcendent Hope

PROPERS:          PROPER 9, YEAR A    

TEXT:                ROMANS 7:15-25a

PREACHED AT ST. JOHN’S, PASCAGOULA, ON SUNDAY, JULY 9, 2023.

 

ONE SENTENCE:        Paul’s message in Romans is clear: The Gospel is for all; cleanses all the past; and is a message of hope.

            

It is an utter delight to close my time with you with the second lesson today.

 

For the next two months, your second lesson each Sunday will be from the sixth book of the New Testament – Paul’s Letter to the Romans.

 

In my opinion, Paul’s Letter to the Romans is the high point of Christian scripture. The well-known Anglican Bishop, N. T. Wright, compares it to the highest mountain, unmatched by any, providing an expansive view of God’s realm.

 

Profound Christian figures have been inspired by this letter. Augustine, Martin Luther, Karl Barth and others have been touched by the Letter to the Romans.

 

The 15 chapters of this letter provide a magnificent overview of Paul’s theology. And Paul, as you may know, was not a simple thinker or apologist.  He was a very bright, very well-educated Greek Jew.  Before his conversion on the road to Damascus he was viewed as a Pharisee’s Pharisee – a peer to his contemporary Gamaliel. 

 

Paul, as you know, was originally named Saul.  He experienced conversion to Christianity just a few years after Jesus’ crucifixion and resurrection.  After taking some time to marinate in Christian theology, he embarked on three missionary journeys.  It was during that time that he wrote his various letters to churches around the Mediterranean. 

 

It was on his third missionary journey that he wrote his Letter to the Romans. He was in Corinth and the year was in the early sixth decade of the first Christian century.

 

Since I will not be with you for the coming lessons, I want to highlight the key themes of the next several passages.

 

Today, Paul is addressing something we are all familiar with – the human condition.  It is the fact that each of us, despite our best intentions, will sometimes do those things we would not do. It is an integral part of human nature, and we cannot help ourselves. He labels that tendency as sin.

 

In a plaintive cry, Paul writes, “Wretched man that I am! Who will save me from this body of death?” In other words, how can the gulf between the broken human condition and the divine nature of God be overcome?

 

Paul answers his own question: “Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord!” In other words, that gulf between human nature and the divine is spanned by the gift of Jesus.

Paul is writing to the Church in Rome.  He knows that it is a mixture of people and groups.  Some are Jews, who have faithfully attempted to follow the Law. Others were gentiles, who had no regard for the Law.

 

Paul sees them as one and the same. All are under God’s grace and mercy – recipients of the divine gift of justification – being made right with God.  He had made this clear in his earlier Letter to the Galatians: “There is neither Jew nor Greek, neither slave nor free.”

 

Paul is making his point by this letter – the gift of justification is for all people.

 

Finally, and perhaps most importantly, is what I consider the high point of the New Testament: Paul’s assurance of hope. Keep in mind this is the same man who has been shipwrecked, imprisoned, beaten, and scorned.  Yet, he sees hope.

 

He recalls all that he has experienced, and he anticipates martyrdom to come. But he writes these words: in all these things we are more than victorious through him who loved us. “^8:38 For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, ³⁹ nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

 

This is Good News for all of us.  If Paul can look on his life – the ups and downs, the highs and lows, his life as Pharisee and his life as a Christian missionary – and see himself embraced in the God of love, we should do the same.

 

            Paul wrote this remarkable letter nearly 2,000 years ago, to a people he had not yet met. It speaks clearly to us today. 

On This Rock

PROPERS:          PROPER 8, YEAR A    

TEXT:                GENESIS 22:1-14

PREACHED AT ST. JOHN’S, PASCAGOULA, ON SUNDAY, JULY 2, 2023.

 

ONE SENTENCE:        The bracing story of the near sacrifice of Isaac is an indication of the expansive understanding of God’s movement in the world.   

 

            The first lesson from Genesis is one of the most startling stories in all of scripture.  Something of this sort would likely get a book banned two states over.

 

            This is the well-known story of the near sacrifice of the boy Isaac by his father Abraham. Keep in mind that Abraham and his wife Sarah have longed for an heir.  He had a son from a household slave, Hagar, but that child, Ishmael, and his mother had been banished to the wilderness.

 

            Isaac was Abraham sole hope for continuation of his lineage.

 

            And now he perceived a call to sacrifice his only son.

 

            It is potentially a tragic story.

 

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            A little historical setting and context might be helpful.

 

            Tradition holds that the place of the near sacrifice is modern-day Jerusalem.  In fact, it said to be the massive stone under the Islamic holy site, the Dome of the Rock. The rock is there, to be seen and touched today.

 

            This then-unpopulated land was known as Moriah. Ancient people saw high ground as holy sites, and that was the case with Moriah.  In the days before Abraham – more than 4,000 years ago -- various pagan groups worshipped in this area.

 

            Nearby this site, only a few hundred yards away, lies a valley, known as the Hinnom Valley, or Gehenna.  In the days before Abraham, various pagan religions would use this valley as a place to sacrifice children to their gods, such as Ba’al and Molech.

 

            Later, this valley would become a garbage dump for the growing town known as Jerusalem.  It was this valley and this burning garbage dump that Jesus would use as his word for hell.  It is also said to be the place in which Judas Iscariot chose to commit suicide after he betrayed Jesus.

 

            So, what does all this mean?

 

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            Abraham had chosen well for the place to offer his son as a burnt offering.  Such child sacrifices had taken place there for many years.

 

            But this story ends with a different twist.  Once Abraham had bound Isaac, placed him on the rock, and lifted his blade to slay him, he hears another call: “Abraham, Abraham!” And he said, “Here I am.” He said, “Do not lay your hand on the boy or do anything to him; for now I know that you fear God, since you have not withheld your son, your only son, from me.”

 

            The word was out.  In the old saying, “There was a new sheriff in town.” The mold had been broken.  This desert God Abraham had encountered did not demand the sacrifice of children.  It may seem to be an obvious point to us today, but in that day, it was radically different.

 

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            Of course, many years later the story would take on a different meaning with rich resonances for Christians.  We would see the crucifixion of Jesus as God’s sacrifice of his own son.  But that would come 2,000 years later.

 

            Today we acknowledge that gift, and we also see the message offered in the aborted sacrifice of Isaac.  We see the origins of the divine trajectory of God overcoming established patterns of human actions and previous understandings of God’s relationship to humankind.

 

            We now proclaim a God of love; a God who beckons to each of us and is eager to overcome the gulf which separates the human and divine realms.  We know not only that child sacrifice is not expected, we hear our Lord’s words, “Let the little children come to me, and forbid them not. For to such the Kingdom of God belongs.”

 

            The continuing movement of God in our midst opens our eyes of faith again and again.  Day-by-day, we understand God anew, though God never changes.  Our ability to see and understand him does, though.

 

            It leads us to why we are here today. We are not here for unrequited sacrifice, but to celebrate the love which is manifest to each of us in this sacrament.  We celebrate the copious gifts of forgiveness and love that overflow anyexpectation we might have.

 

            Each of us can look back on our lives and say: I have been forgiven for all that I have done; my past is past – it is gone; the hurts that I have caused are no more; the ways I have betrayed those I love are wiped clean; behold, I am a new being with a new life.

 

            As the old hymn says, “On Christ the solid rock I stand.” Not on the old rock on which Isaac would have been sacrificed. 

Blowing Where It Will

 

PROPERS:          THE DAY OF PENTECOST

TEXT:                ACTS 2:1-21

PREACHED AT ST. JOHN’S, PASCAGOULA, ON SUNDAY, MAY 28, 2023.

 

ONE SENTENCE:        The Day of Pentecost acknowledges the gift of the Spirit, which we cannot control.

 

            I am not a scholar of the biblical languages of Hebrew and Greek, but there are some original words in the text which are very revealing.

 

            In the original creation story in the first verses of Genesis, we are told that “the Spirit of God was moving over the face of the waters.”

 

            The Hebrew term for Spirit was ruach.

 

            In our first lesson today, from the Book of Acts, we have the authoritative story of that first Christian Pentecost. To set the scene: The Disciples are holed-up in a room, fearful of the world which surrounds them.  They are afraid that they will meet the same fate as their teacher had.

 

            But as they were locked in a room, a mighty wind rushed through the walls and closed doors. Tongues of flame danced on their heads.  They were all moved mightily, boldly, and ventured out into the crowded Jerusalem streets.

 

            The wind which brought the tongues of fire was called, in Greek, pneuma.

 

            Ruach in Hebrew. Pneuma in Greek. They are both the literal breath of God.

 

The breath of God is what was given to the church on the first Christian Pentecost, and it is what animates the church today.

 

Despite what we may want, the Spirit will do what it will do.  We cannot stop it.  We cannot guide it.

 

            In the third chapter of the Gospel of John, a leader of the Sanhedrin, Nicodemus, comes to Jesus under cover of darkness.  He wants to probe the young rabbi about his teachings.

 

            Among other things, Jesus tells Nicodemus, “The wind blows where it chooses, and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes.”

 

            We need to remember that the ruach, the pneuma, or the Spirit is a gift from God, and cannot be directed by human preferences.  It is God’s gift to each of us, a gift of profound grace, which can only be received.  We cannot determine where or to whom it goes next.

 

            In a little bit, we will baptize the newest Christian, Matthias Lief MacOwen.

 

            People ask, “Why do you baptize young children?  They cannot understand what they are doing.”

 

            Nor do we. No matter what we say. We do not fully understand God’s love for us, or his acceptance of us with our flaws and human frailty.  The rubric on page 298 describes our understanding: “Holy Baptism is full initiation by water and the Holy Spirit into Christ’s body the Church.  The bond established by God in baptism is indissoluble.”

 

            In other words, the important movement in baptism is God toward us and not us toward God.  The initiation of the bond is established by God. It originates with God – and it is permanent.

 

            Try as we might, we can seek to place limits or restrictions on God’s movement and love. We may think that we or others are unworthy. 

 

But remember Jesus’ words to Nicodemus, the wind blows where it chooses. Our desire to restrict its generosity, as the old saying goes, doesn’t get above the ceiling.

What's So Special?

PROPERS:          MAUNDY THURSDAY, YEAR A   

TEXT:                EXODUS 12:1-4, (5-10), 11-14; JOHN 13:1-17, 31b-35

PREACHED AT HOLY TRINITY, PENSACOLA, ON THURSDAY, APRIL 6, 2023.

 

ONE SENTENCE:        On this Holy Night, we receive a renewed sacrament of deliverance and a call to selfless service.         

 

            Ma nishtanah.

 

            These are the first two words of four questions the youngest child asks his Jewish elders in the family Passover meal.  The Passover meal was last night.

 

            Ma nishtanah. “Why is this night different from all other nights?” Indeed.

 

            We hear the reason in the first lesson, from the Book of Exodus, tonight.  The Hebrews, held in slavery in Egypt hundreds of years since Joseph, were being delivered from the bitter yoke of Pharoah.  It was the hand of God moving in their midst.

 

            They would observe this Holy Night with a sacred meal – gathered ‘round a family table to recall the salvific acts.

 

            Which is precisely what we do, with an updated Christian narrative – a different pascal lamb, but an account of deliverance all the same.

 

            It is lost on many that the sacrament we share at this table is a renewed and reshaped Passover meal. Two thousand years of Jewish testimony have morphed into two thousand years of Christian witness.  All about deliverance.

 

            Unlike being led out of bondage, we are freed from our sins. And we are assured that God is at our side.

 

            But there is more.

 

            The message of this night is indeed deliverance, but so much more. It is also a call – a mandatum – to service.  As our Lord, our deliverer, stooped to wash his disciples’ feet – a humble act of service – we are called to replicate that service both inside and outside these walls.

 

            In a few moments, we will humble ourselves to wash one another’s feet. But the mandate of this Maundy Thursday is to move beyond these walls and to, literally and figuratively, wash the feet of others. Not just those “like us” or of our “class”, but the despised and scorned of society.

 

            The message of this evening is that we are delivered – and that we are delivered for a purpose. We are not delivered to be the frozen chosen, but to be the disciples of today, and to act in the manner Jesus has established. 

An Empty Tomb

PROPERS:          2 EASTER, YEAR A    

TEXT:                JOHN 20:1-31

PREACHED AT ARDORAN HOUSE, IONA, ON SUNDAY, APRIL 16, 2023.

 

ONE SENTENCE:        The resurrection promised by that first Easter comes in various forms.

 

            In the year 563 AD, Columba and 12 friends crossed the Irish Sea to the Isle of Iona. That trip is the reason we are here today.

 

            A short time later, legend tells us, that Columba was seeking to build an abbey. Again and again, his plans were frustrated. The work accomplished each day would disappear overnight.

 

            A vision came that indicated the plans to build an abbey would be negated unless and until a live person was buried in the foundation.

 

            One of Columba’s 12 friends volunteered to be buried alive. So, Odran was buried alive under the proposed foundation. The abbey – a precursor to today’s abbey – was built, roughly on the same site as the one which stands today.

 

            Legend further holds that Odran later rose from that grave.  Once again, alive. He was quickly buried again.

 

            The early Christian monks which populated this island were Celtic. They practiced a form of Christianity that was at-odds with the Roman form which was sweeping across Europe and the British Isles.

 

            That tension was broken when the Synod of Whitby met on the coast of the North Sea in 664.  The date of Easter – and other church practices – were decided in favor of the Roman practice.

 

            Yet, the monks carried forth the Celtic tradition. The vitality of the abbey ebbed and flowed over the years.  But in 906, 68 monks of the abbey were martyred at the bay only a short distance from here.  A monument stands there now.

 

            Yet here we are – 1,200 years after their murder, and 1,600 years after Odran was buried. Thousands and thousands of pilgrims come here each year, seeking the experience of a “thin place.” Life continues.

 

            Too often, resurrection is seen only in the events of that first century Sunday in Jerusalem. It is, instead, a promise which transcends time and geography.

 

            Iona – and us – experience new life each day.  Despite our losses, disappointments, and failures, we find new life.  We emerge, again and again, from a metaphorical grave.

 

            Such resurrections are not cheap and facile. I came across a comment from a friend who experienced unspeakable loss a few years ago. I reflected on my theology of resurrection and what it could say to my friend. I could see that my friend would say such a theology is simplistic and superficial.

 

            But I thought: Life goes on… not as it was; not as simple; but it continues.  The Martyrs died… Odran died… but the ministry of Iona continues. Yes, we have lost loved ones.  Yes, we have seen relationships fail.  Yes, we have experienced illness and disappointment.

 

            On some level, though, life continues.  The tomb is empty. 

As The Lord Sees

PROPERS:          FOURTH SUNDAY IN LENT, YEAR A  

TEXT:                1 SAMUEL 16:1-13

PREACHED AT ST. JOHN’S CHURCH, PASCAGOULA, ON SUNDAY, MARCH 19, 2023.

 

ONE SENTENCE:        Samuel had to have God’s vision in choosing the new king of Israel.

 

            In the Old Testament lesson today, we hear of a critical moment – in the history of Israel, in the course of salvation history, down to this gathering today.

 

            Young David, a child, is anointed King of Israel – and a thousand years later, in the same village in which he is anointed, his descendent, Jesus, will be born.

 

            But we are well ahead of ourselves here.  And we are missing a key point of the story.

 

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            The primary figure in the first verses of this passage is Samuel. A prophet and an old man.

 

            But we have heard of him before.

 

            He was originally a gift from God to his mother, Hannah.  She had prayed fervently to be given a child… a child she would dedicate to the Lord’s service.

 

            While serving in the House of God at Shiloh, the boy Samuel had received a vision from God against the family of his mentor Eli.  The voice of God had spoken clearly: “Samuel! Samuel!” And his mentor had urged the boy to hear the message and to disclose it to him.

 

            Which Samuel did.  And it was not good news for Eli.  His sons had sinned, and his house would fall.  His lineage would become like dust in the wind.

 

            Later, as a man and a much-respected prophet, Samuel would anoint the first King of Israel. Saul, the first king, was chosen because he was the tallest of all Israelites – head and shoulders above others. But he proved to be a disappointment, an utter failure.

 

            Samuel grieved… He grieved over King Saul’s failures and faithlessness.  He knew someone else had been chosen. He would discern and anoint the successor. The next king would be mightier than Saul.

 

            He thought he knew what he was looking for. He was willing to be guided.  That brings us to today’s lesson.

 

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The old man Samuel was revered by the people. He came to the Tribe of Benjamin, to the village of Bethlehem, where he had found Saul. He was looking for Jesse and his family.

 

            He found them, certain that one of Jesse’s sons would be chosen by God to be the new king. One-by-one they came before him – Eliab, Abinadab, Shammah, and four others.  Mighty though they were, God had not chosen any.

 

            Samuel, thinking this task would be easy, heard God say, “Do not look on his appearance or on the height of his stature, because I have rejected him; for the Lord does not see as mortals see; they look on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart.”  The Lord looks on the heart.

 

            So, Samuel posed a simple question to the father, Jesse: “Are these all your sons?”

 

            “All except one – the youngest.  He is tending the sheep.”

 

            Samuel sent for the youngster – David, a child, ruddy and handsome. And he would be king. The greatest of kings.

 

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            There is a lesson here somewhere for us.  That lesson could be for us as individuals… or for this congregation as it enters a search process.

 

            We are called to see not with our eyes, but with the eyes of God. We are called to see things not on-the-surface but with eyes of discernment.

 

            There is an old saying, “All that glitters is not gold.” Those are helpful words for us as we continue our ordinary lives, and as this congregation enters the search process.

 

            We are to look beyond the obvious… to see the depth… to see the diamond embedded in the lump of coal.

  

A Thirst for Water

PROPERS:          THIRD SUNDAY IN LENT, YEAR A      

TEXT:                EXODUS 17:1-7

PREACHED AT ST. JOHN’S CHURCH, PASCAGOULA, ON SUNDAY, MARCH 12, 2023.

 

ONE SENTENCE:        Thirsting for metaphorical water.       

 

            Years ago, during my early teen years, I was involved in the Boy Scouts. It was a great experience, and I am thankful for it.

 

            Each summer meant going south of my hometown of Meridian to Camp Binachi, a camp owned and operated by the Scouts.  Each session was one week, and I would attend back-to-back sessions.

 

            I have many memories of my times there – all good. But there were many I would not treasure today; the infrequency of showers, the heat, the bathroom facilities (or lack thereof), and the food.

 

            And, of course, there was the summer I adopted a three-foot snake.  It hung around my neck and went everywhere I went.  It even slept at the foot of my bunk.  My mother would not come near me on Parents’ Day.

 

            One memory stands out, though. It was the cross-country hike through the surrounding woods to the outpost camp.  I needed it in order to get my camping merit badge.

 

            Oh, did I tell you it was hot?  It was – Mississippi summer hot.  I was dressed in my scout uniform and was fitted with a backpack that was filled with various supplies necessary for camping, cooking, and sleeping at the outpost camp – tent, bedroll, canteen, and cooking kit.  I told myself it must have weighed 50 pounds – but you know how boys exaggerate.

 

            We departed from camp, walking down a dusty road.  Then we meandered through woods, swatting bugs and mosquitos all along the way.  The sun was high and beating down on us.  Our thirst grew and grew.  We could not access our canteens.  My tongue stuck to roof of my mouth. I told myself that we had hiked five miles… but remember what I said about exaggeration.

 

            Finally, we got to the outpost camp.  We shed our backpacks, realizing we had reached our goal. But I had not.  I had never been so thirsty in my life.

 

            So, I walked the short distance down a hill to a spring. Gurgling out of the ground was the coolest, clearest, sweetest water I had ever tasted. Refreshment, indeed!  I can taste it to this day.

 

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            The Hebrews knew the feeling… and then some.

 

            The exodus from Egypt was not for the faint of heart.  The masses of Hebrews had moved out in stages, and the land they traversed was daunting.  It was a barren desert landscape, not fit for man or beast.  If you have seen the movieLawrence of Arabia, it was like that. A moonscape. Void of life. Rocks, sand, and dust… with a scorching sun and a dry, hot wind.

 

            Moses had led them out of Egypt, where they may have been slaves.  But at least they had the essentials of life.

 

            They were thirsty – literally dying of thirst.

 

            So, Moses – himself eighty years old – went ahead of them.  He went to Horeb, the Holy Mountain… also known as Mount Sinai. There he struck the rock, as the elders watched, and pure, clear water gushed forth.

 

            The people’s thirst would be quenched.

 

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            I take this story as a metaphor – a biblical passage pointing us toward a greater truth about God. And it does. In spades.

 

            The Hebrews were thirsty. Parched. Weary. Grumbling.  We’ve all been there. Maybe not with a similar thirst for water, but a similar thirst for God.

 

            We hear Jesus’ words from the cross: “My God, My God! Why have you forsaken me?” “Eloi, Eloi! Lama sabachtani?”  We can all identify.  There have been times, I suspect, for each of us – after a death, or a broken relationship, or a disappointment, or a health crisis, or a wilderness experience. Perhaps you have wondered, “Am I alone?”

 

            The Hebrews wandered aimlessly in the Wilderness for 40 years.  This season of Lent reminds us that Jesus sojourned alone, with his temptations, in the Wilderness for 40 days and nights.

 

            The greater truth is that relief will come. Our thirst will be quenched, even if water has to come from a rock. We may not know or see from where relief will come, but it will come.

 

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            Many, many generations before the Hebrews thirsted for that water, their ancestor Abraham nearly sacrificed his only son, Isaac, on a rock.  At the last moment, a ram appeared and replaced the child as the sacrifice.

 

            Abraham, father of nations, named that place Yahweh Yirah – the Lord Will Provide. Indeed he does, even to us, even today.