Gilding the Lily

REFLECTION, ST. PAUL’S, FOLEY – PALM SUNDAY, YEAR B

MARCH 28, 2021

 

TEXT:                        MARK 14:1 – 15:47

 

 

            It is always a struggle to preach on Palm Sunday.  What more can you say that this gospel passage has not already said.

 

            I will refuse the example of a colleague in Mississippi who followed this gospel passage with a three-word sermon: It’s all true.

 

            But what more can be said?

 

            The God of all creation, who deigned to enter into the vulnerable form of a human being, willingly gave himself up to show the depth of love for all people.

 

            Think back on the last few months. This past Thursday, we commemorated the Annunciation – the announcement by the angel Gabriel, to a young woman in the remote village of Nazareth, the miracle of the Incarnation. We celebrated Christmas – the birth of the Christ child. Then we recall his baptism and his immediate sojourn in the wilderness. Now, we hear of his betrayal, his trial, his crucifixion, his death and entombment. Our year will continue with other stories of his ministry.

 

            All this… ALL THIS… all we will hear the remainder of the year, is to show us the depth of God’s love.

 

            But his death is not the end of the story.  It is not the concluding chapter of the testament of God’s love.

  

Seeing Jesus

HOMILY, ST. PAUL’S, FOLEY – FIFTH SUNDAY IN LENT, YEAR B

MARCH 21, 2021

 

TEXTS:                      JOHN 12:20-33

 

 

            I wonder how many of us have identified with the Greeks who approached Philip in the days leading up to the Passover in Jerusalem: “Sir, we wish to see Jesus.”

 

            We may be much like those Greeks.  Like them, we have heard the stories.  We know of how his followers and his numinous continuing presence have bent the course of history.  The Greeks had heard of Jesus’ triumphant entry into Jerusalem in the previous days.  They knew the acclaim he was receiving.  Our feelings may not be exactly the same – but the essence is precisely what the Greeks felt:  Mysterium tremendum et fascinans – the mystery which frightens and fascinates.

 

            I remember one time in particular.  I was visiting St. Joseph’s Church in Nazareth.  In the undercroft of that holy site, a quiet chamber is built just beneath the nave where services are held.  In that lower chamber, metal grates provide a lighted view to caves well below the undercroft.  It is believed that the cave was the site of Joseph’s wood shop – and the place where Jesus played as a child and labored as an adult. In that era and area, people were cave dwellers.

 

            The hair stood up on the back of my neck.  I realized how close I was. I wanted to encounter Jesus.

 

            Likewise, I can look back and see moments in which I yearned to see Jesus – thirsting like I did for cool spring water on a hot summer hike at Boy Scout camp. Perhaps you have known that yearning, too.

 

            I think all of us come here on Sundays expecting to encounter something special – maybe the mysterium tremendum et fascinans. I hope that this liturgy, this sacrament of Holy Eucharist, provides that sense of real presence that we Episcopalians say is part of this service.  I hope that something touches you in a way that allows you to leave this service a little different from the way you arrived.

 

            But we should remember we are to find the Risen Lord – the Jesus we seek – like the Greeks did: in the business of daily life, in our encounters with others, in the words that we hear and speak in our conversations.  

 

            Yes, we yearn to see Jesus. But we are called to be people of discernment – to see beyond the obvious, the apparent, the plain, that which is on the surface. To see Jesus, we are to look for and to discern the holy, the sacred, the mysterious, the redemptive power of Jesus in daily life.

 

            The Greeks who sought to see Jesus did not know there was anything special in the moment.  It would become obvious years later. That was when it was recorded. Perhaps we will be like that – we will see Jesus in looking back on life.   

Gazing on Deliverance

 HOMILY, ST. PAUL’S, FOLEY – FOURTH SUNDAY IN LENT, YEAR B

MARCH 14, 2021

 

TEXTS:                      NUMBERS 21:4-9; JOHN 3:14-21

 

 

            The two lessons today are wonderfully symbiotic. The span nearly 1,300 years of faith history and bridge two great events of deliverance.

 

            The first lesson, from the fourth book of the Torah known as Numbers, has the Hebrew people in the midst of their great deliverance known as the Exodus – from slavery in Egypt to life in the land of milk and honey.  Mark that as roughly 1,250 years before Jesus.

 

            To give you a sense of perspective, 1,200 years before this moment, indigenous tribes and buffalo freely roamed this continent.  To further make the point, Christopher Columbus would not set out his journey for 500 years.

 

            The Hebrew people, weary from wandering aimlessly in the parched, barren wilderness, were afflicted. They were stricken with fiery serpents which tortured them with untold misery. They begged Moses for relief.

 

            We don’t know precisely what took place to alleviate their suffering – at least clinically. But we do know, based on the passage from Numbers, that Moses had a bronze image of the fiery serpent put on a pole, and anyone who gazed on it in faith was healed.

 

            We now believe those fiery serpents were Guinea worms – a parasite that once afflicted millions through contaminated water in Asia and Africa.  Thanks to the work of the Carter Center, Guinea worms are now found only in sub-Saharan Africa and may soon be the second disease eliminated from the face of the globe. Smallpox was the first.

 

            But the issue which Jesus comes to address does not respond as easily to medicinal therapeutics. The human condition, which afflicts all people, is stubborn and has its roots not in the wilderness but is deeply entwined in the roots of our essential humanity.

 

            Jesus is early in his ministry when he tells us that he must be lifted up – like the serpent on the pole – for the gift of eternal life to be unlocked.  He is, of course, referring to being lifted up on the cross.  And our response of faith in God’s offering of the Divine self in sacrifice seals the gift of fullness of life.

 

            The theology of this gracious gifts is expressed in this gospel passage – but it is still a divine mystery.  But the circle of healing is complete.        

The Purpose and Essence

 HOMILY, ST. PAUL’S, FOLEY – THIRD SUNDAY IN LENT, YEAR B

MARCH 7, 2021

 

TEXT:                        EXODUS 20:1-17; JOHN 2:13-22

 

 

            Today, at the mid-point of Lent, we are blessed to have two key passages of scripture as our lessons:  The Ten Commandments and the cleansing of the Temple.

 

            We should remember that Lent is a journey, and the lessons for this season are focused on the climax of Good Friday and Easter Day.  That is our focus – but we are not there yet.

 

            There is a lot of focus on the literal importance of the Ten Commandments.  We are frequently reminded that they are not the Ten Suggestions.  But that point raises a larger question: What was the essence of the Ten Commandments and the legal codes which follow it in the subsequent books of the Torah?

 

            That was the question which animated Jesus’ actions from the second chapter of John’s gospel today. Jesus was beginning to emphasize the purpose and essence of the Law that had been handed down to Moses and the Hebrew people in the Wilderness. He was not being subtle in his response.

 

            It seems to have rankled Jesus that everything that was transpiring in the Temple was legal – the money changing, the sale of animals for sacrifice, and who knows what else. To Jesus, it seems there was significant affront to naked commerce on the same grounds as the Holy of Holies. And, yet, well-intentioned people were being told their actions were not in accordance with the Law.

 

            The Law, it seems, had moved from its intention to a rather crass means of emphasizing its minor points. Much was lost in the process. The Law’s intent of focusing on our essential relationship to God and one another had been lost in the superficiality of the Law’s interpretation. To paraphrase Jesus from another passage, “The Law was made for man, not man for the Law.”

 

            It is a message that Jesus seeks to convey throughout his ministry. The faith of the Samaritan. Healing on the Sabbath. Concern for the less fortunate.  True riches. Where we place our trust. The power of forgiveness.  The manifest nature of God’s grace.

 

            What is the essence of the Law? Jesus was asked that question. His response: “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.  This is the first and great commandment.  The second is like it. You shall love your neighbor as yourself. On these two commandments hang al the Law and the prophets.”

 

            God’s intent for us? Live according to that standard.  Let it guide your heart, your mind, your soul, your actions.

Carrying a Cross

HOMILY, ST. PAUL’S, FOLEY – SECOND SUNDAY IN LENT, YEAR B

FEBRUARY 28, 2021

 

TEXT:                        MARK 8:31-38

 

 

            When I was serving as a long-term supply priest at Holy Trinity Church in Pensacola, a parishioner gave me a copy of a very powerful book.  It speaks to the gospel lesson today.

 

            The name of the book is Preaching in Hitler’s Shadow.  It is a compilation of biographies, stories, and sermons from the dark days of the Third Reich. Its focus is on the lives – and in some cases, deaths – of those mostly-Lutheran pastors who comprised what was known as the Confessing Church during that 12-year period.

 

            Nazism, you see, had its own state-sanctioned theology.  There were acknowledged state churches, where no inconvenient facts or theologies would be preached.

 

            But some courageous pastors did.  Most of their names have disappeared from consciousness now.  But that doesn’t minimize their courage in the light of the oppression and risks they faced. One name continues to be revered: Dietrich Bonhoeffer.  He was a Lutheran pastor to whom we owe a debt of gratitude for his seminal work, The Cost of Discipleship and the coining of the term cheap grace.  He was martyred by Hitler’s henchmen only days before Allied troops liberated his concentration camp at Flossenburg.  He was 39 years of age. 

 

            There are few examples of Jesus’ teaching from today’s gospel which are as clear as those days. “Jesus called the crowd with his disciples, and said to them, ‘If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it.’”

 

            A friend recently made this observation: Can we now recognize Jesus as a teacher and not just a savior?  Indeed, Jesus is not only “the way, the truth, and the life,” he shows us “the way, the truth, and the life.” Central to that way of being like Jesus is the willingness to take up our crosses and follow him.

 

            Few of us, if any, will ever have the stark choices of the Lutheran pastors in 1930s and 1940s Germany.  Thank God.  But we are still called to take up our crosses – to bear witness, to take action, to point out the path to the way, and the truth, and the life.

 

            That means discerning and acting on the movements of justice, peace, and righteousness that brings all people under the umbrella of God’s realm of love and grace.  

The Good News

HOMILY, ST. PAUL’S, FOLEY – FIRST SUNDAY IN LENT, YEAR B

FEBRUARY 21, 2021

 

TEXT:                        GENESIS 9:8-17, MARK 1:9-15

 

 

            The event of the first Lent is treated very briefly in Mark’s gospel.  It is summarized in two brief sentences. Mark’s gospel merely notes, “And the Spirit immediately drove him out into the wilderness. He was in the wilderness forty days, tempted by Satan; and he was with the wild beasts; and the angels waited on him.”

 

            The time in the wilderness was a transition for Jesus – from his life as a carpenter in the area of Nazareth to the road which would ultimately lead him to Jerusalem and the cross. Yet, Mark tells us, that Jesus began his ministry in this way: “Jesus came to Galilee, proclaiming the good news of God, and saying, ‘The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near; repent, and believe in the good news.’”

 

            Galilee has been described at that time as a rural backwater of Israel. My Mississippi image would be the equivalent of Kemper County.  Name your own analogy for Alabama.  My question would be, “What could be the good news for that dirt poor, ignorant, deprived, largely-ostracized population of Galilee. What would separate Jesus from the 19^th century barker that would ride through small towns selling miracle tonic to gullible people?”

 

            To put it simply, the same good news you receive in hearing the gospel every Sunday. Jesus’ message – and his very being – are good news.

 

            For sure, it is different from the light-hearted stories we read in Reader’s Digest.  It is more meaningful than the happy bits we see on Facebook.  And it is life-altering, unlike the brief snippets of “good news” we see on the evening news broadcasts.

 

            The word gospel is a modern term, a contraction of the Anglo-Saxon “God-spell”, meaning good news.  Jesus’ very coming in fleshly form is Good News – for the people of Galilee and for us today.

 

            The good news of the gospel is essentially the story of the Bible.  As an examining chaplain for those about to be ordained in the Diocese of Mississippi, I would always ask the graduating seminarians, “Tell me the story of the Bible.”

 

            I did not want to know the history of how the books came to be included in the Bible, or how the translations came about, or what was the difference between history and faith history.  What I wanted to know was the message – what God is seeking to say to us.

 

            We see the signs of that message in the lesson from Genesis today.  God is making a promise to all humanity – a reminder of which will be the rainbow.  The subsequent books of the Bible add details, and the stories about Jesus put flesh on the promise.

 

            The promise – the meta-narrative of the Bible – is essentially this: Throughout faith history, God has been reaching out to us. And regardless of our station in life… and regardless of what we have done… God wishes to be reconciled to and present with us. He shows us that by his very example.

 

            That is the simple message.  It was true for the people of Galilee. It is true for the people of Kemper County.  And it is true for us.

 

Resolving Conflicted Messages

 HOMILY, ST. PAUL’S, FOLEY – ASH WEDNESDAY, YEAR B

FEBRUARY 17, 2021

 

TEXT:                        MATTHEW 6:1-6, 16-21

 

 

            Ash Wednesday, the first day of Lent, rolls around each year.

 

            It has ancient roots. In the earliest days of the church, it was the time set aside for the final preparations of those about to be baptized at the Easter vigil six weeks later.  It was also a time for those who had sinned egregiously to go through practices of penance in order to be accepted back at communion.

 

            So, we come together on this day – to turn back toward God, to rend our hearts and not our garments.

 

            But, for all my years of ordained ministry, this day has been a day of conflicting messages.  I suspect you have noted the conflicting messages, too.  It is as simple as this:

 

            From the gospel lesson today, Jesus says, "And whenever you fast, do not look dismal, like the hypocrites, for they disfigure their faces so as to show others that they are fasting. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. But when you fast, put oil on your head and wash your face, so that your fasting may be seen not by others but by your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.”

 

            Yet, each year we leave this service, with the ashes of the cross, marking foreheads.  Each person we encounter can see plainly that we have been to church. Perhaps unintentionally, it is a public sign of what should be private piety.  Each year, I see public figures on the news so marked.  That marking contrasts with the gospel lesson and our Lord’s own words.

 

            Bishop Steven Miller, retired bishop of Milwaukee, now lives in Defuniak Springs, Florida.  He says that he always encouraged his clergy to provide water and washcloths at the back of the churches so that parishioners could clean the signs of penance, while continuing the private acts of turning back toward God.

 

            In a few moments, you will be invited to come forward.  I will pronounce the Ash Wednesday sentence – “Remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return – and make the sign of the cross for you. Then you will be given the opportunity to take a small vial of ashes from a tray.

 

            Perhaps you will choose to impose the ashes on your forehead.  If you do, fine.  However, I would suggest that you remove them before going into public.

 

            But hold on to that small vial of ashes. Keep them on your dresser or some other piece of furniture in your home.  Let them be a visible but private reminder during these 40 days and 40 nights of your pledge to turn once again the source of life and forgiveness.