A Tent of Flesh

 HOMILY, ST. PAUL’S, FOLEY – 4 ADVENT, YEAR B

DECEMBER 20, 2020 

 

TEXT:                        2 Samuel 7:1-11, 16; Luke 1:26-38

 

 

            In the first lesson today, we hear of King David’s yearning to build a house for God.  This is after peace had come to Jerusalem and David’s enemies had been put under his feet.  The year was likely about 1000 B. C.

 

            But the prophet Nathan tells David that it will not be David who will build the house of God.  Is it not enough that I have placed you on the throne?  Is it not enough that I have granted peace to your people? Indeed, I will make your name great forever.

 

            David longed for something he could not have.  David, as king, was a sign and symbol of God’s presence with the people of Israel.  It was his son, Solomon, who would build the Temple in Jerusalem, after David’s reign.  It would stand there in the heart of Jerusalem– as a beacon of God’s presence – for nearly 400 years.

 

            Until 587 BC.  It was then that Nebuchadnezzar and his Babylonian army would lay waste to the city, level the Temple, and carry the people of Jerusalem into exile.

 

            Later, another Temple was built. It was larger and grander than the first.  King Herod, the brutal tyrant, made it one of the most spectacular structures in the world.  It, too, pointed towards God’s presence with his people.  Jesus walked in its porticos and taught in its courtyards. But it, too, would be destroyed – this time by the Romans, in AD 70.

 

            Sometime after the destruction of the first Temple, synagogues arose – as the people of God were spread throughout the known world – as a sign of the presence of God. Their ancient remnants can be scene in Israel.  Churches would come much later but would represent something similar.

 

            All that misses an important point.  It is quite plain in the gospel lesson today.  God is telling Mary that she will bear a son, and that he will be a sign of God’s presence which is much greater than all the stones and mortar that could be constructed.

 

            It is the central Christian doctrine known as the Incarnation.  The 14^th verse of the first chapter of John’s gospel tells us: “And the word became flesh and lived among us.”  A more literal translation would be that God became human and pitched tent with us.

 

            That is a truth which resonates with the ages. In the days before the first Temple – in the days the first lesson describes today – the ark of the covenant, the sacred symbol of God’s presence, was in a tent.  As the people of Israel moved about, so did the tent.  God’s presence did not depart from the people.

 

            The incarnation – God becoming flesh – is a sign to us. God is one of us, he has walked in our shoes, he has known our pains, our griefs, our temptations, our joys, our loves.  We each have been marked with imago dei – the image of God.  And God has shown us that he never departs from our side.

All Life as a Blessing

 HOMILY, ST. PAUL’S, FOLEY – 3 ADVENT, YEAR B

DECEMBER 13, 2020 

 

TEXT:                        1 Thessalonians 5:16-24

 

 

            The first lesson today, from Paul’s First Letter to the Thessalonians, is likely from the earliest text in the New Testament – earlier than the gospels and the other books of the Christian scriptures.

 

            This is probably Paul’s first letter that we have today.  It is believed to have been written in Corinth, some 100 miles south, in the early sixth decade, anno domini.  This is in the earliest Christian years – before the fires of the gospel had spread to many nations. Paul had planted the young church there himself, and he felt a tender love for that group of largely Gentile Christians.

 

            But Paul knew the cost of discipleship – and he knew the price the early believers were paying. The new Christians in Thessalonica had been integral parts of the pagan community there.  They had known the privileges associated with status.  They had earlier embraced the standards and values of that pagan culture. Now, they faced immense social pressures and even persecution.

 

            They were not in Kansas any more.  It was hard.

 

+ + + 

 

            Some years ago I would travel to Grand Coteau, Louisiana, and the Jesuit Spirituality Center for an annual silent retreat.  It was a time of introspection, prayer, and insight.

 

            Each retreatant was assigned a spiritual director for the retreat period – either four, eight, or 30 days. One year, my assigned director was a wise, older sister named Sister Connie.

 

            We met one-hour each day.  That hour, and the daily Eucharist, were the only times we were to speak.  The conversations with the director were times of deep probing and emerging spiritual awakening.  That was especially true one day.

 

            Sister Connie said something which went against life, as far as I was concerned. “All life is a blessing,” she said. “Everything.”

 

            I pointed out to her the truth of poverty, tragedy, injustice, oppression, illness and death.  Basically, the human condition.  I must admit I felt somewhat out of place talking about such things to an older woman who had given up everything in life to pursue her sacred call.

 

            She stuck to her view: “All life is a blessing.” I resisted.

 

+ + +

 

            Now, here we are in 2020.  Need I say more?  I saw a time change meme on Facebook that said, “I’m not turning my watch back one hour if it is going to prolong this year at all.” Who would want more of pandemic, politics, economic upheaval, and storms?

 

            Now we have Paul saying to us – from the depths of the first Christian century: “Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you.”

 

            I am humbled.  By the witness and humility of Sister Connie.  By the bravery and words of St. Paul.  

 

            I apparently do not understand the grace of God, or God’s movement in the world. I will not argue.  I will only try to accept.

A Reason for Hope

 HOMILY, ST. PAUL’S, FOLEY – 1 ADVENT, YEAR B

NOVEMBER 29, 2020 

 

TEXT:                        Isaiah 64:1-9; Mark 13:24-37

 

 

            Jurgen Moltmann was an 18-year-old, reared in a secular society, when he was drafted into the German Army in 1944.  Despite the turn the war had taken against his home country, he was expected to fight for his Fuhrer and his homeland.

 

            His days in combat did not last long.  Soon he was captured by British soldiers and placed in a prison camp in Belgium.  His world had collapsed.  On both sides of the English Channel there was utter destruction.  Coventry in England.  Dresden in Germany.  Countless other sites.  The continent was a smoking ruins.  And soon the war would fully come to Berlin.

 

            Moltmann was moved from prison camp to prison camp.  He was shown pictures of what his people had done at Buchenwald, Auschwitz, and other concentration camps.  He felt near unbearable guilt.  He wished he had died with his comrades in battle.

 

            Then he was transferred to a prison camp, across the channel, in Scotland.  There, he was given a small book containing the New Testament and Psalms.  As he helped the Scots rebuild their bombed cities, he read the book voraciously.  In the midst of the ruins, he began to see light. His eyes were opened anew.

 

            Released and returned home in 1948, he began a prolific academic career.  Out of his despair and the ruination of the continent through war, he wrote a book that is studied to this day.  The name of the book is A Theology of Hope.  In spite of all he had seen, all he had experienced, and all that had transpired around him, he saw the hope of God’s work through a lost and broken world.

 

            The prophet Isaiah lived in a similar world.  The land in which he lived – Israel – was the northern portion of what we call Israel today.  Jerusalem and the nation of Judah were to the south.  But Isaiah’s land was threatened by a nation to the north and east – Assyria.  It would not be long before Assyria would attack and conquer Isaiah’s home country.

 

            This was nearly 800 years before Jesus – much longer in time than between the arrival of Christopher Columbus in the New World and now.

 

            A prophet is not someone who gazes into a crystal ball and predicts events, a la Nostradamus.  A prophet speaks God’s truth, calls the people back to faithfulness, and points toward God’s ultimate redemption of the world.  That is precisely what Isaiah did.  He pointed toward hope, in the midst of a chaotic world.

 

            Jesus does the same today.  In the gospel lesson, he is living in a puppet state, ruled by a tyrant figure-head king, and oppressed by a Roman army that rules ruthlessly.

 

            Still, like Isaiah, like Jurgen Moltmann, Jesus points toward the coming of God’s kingdom, in spite of all evidence to the contrary.

 

            What does that say to us in 2020 – in light of the pandemic, economic upheaval, political tension, and other traumas? What does it say to us in this Advent?

 

            I think you know.

Choosing Our Realm

 HOMILY, ST. PAUL’S, FOLEY – LAST SUNDAY AFTER PENTECOST, YEAR A

NOVEMBER 22, 2020 

 

TEXT:                        Matthew 25:31-46

 

 

A streaming series on Netflix now is all the rage.  It is “The Crown” and is now in its fourth season.  It is an intimate but speculative account of the reign of Queen Elizabeth – the 94-year-old British monarch who has ruled for almost 70 years.

 

The current season features episodes having to do with the failed marriage of Charles and Diana, and the tenure of Margaret Thatcher as Britain’s prime minister. One episode even focused on the frightful moment when an intruder to Buckingham Palace ended up seated on Queen Elizabeth’s bed as she awoke. Earlier seasons have dealt with Elizabeth’s marriage to Prince Philip, a mining disaster in Wales, and the Queen’s relationship with Winston Churchill and other prime ministers.

 

It is a fascinating but fictional “look behind the curtain” of the royal family.  The Queen and her family are seen as genuine human beings rather than the superficial figures which is the usual perception.  They are shown to be flesh and blood individuals in a family that faces the typical issues of ordinary life.  Even as they live in their gilded cage.

 

The Queen is shown to be human – compassionate, caring, but locked in a formal, stringent role that has multiple layers of protocol and tradition that bind her. Still, the royal family is seen by many as the apex of power and human existence. They live surrounded by riches, privilege, servants, and opulence.

 

It is a dramatically different picture of the king we have in today’s gospel lesson.  This is the portion of Matthew’s gospel known as the great judgement.

 

The king in this passage is not bound by protocol or tradition – just an internal passion for the welfare of the poor, the sick, the grieving, the hungry, the naked, and the homeless.  Indeed, the king’s concern is for the people described as those blessed 20 chapters earlier in the Beatitudes from the Sermon on the Mount.

 

Those subjects who had fed him, given him drink, welcomed him as a stranger, gave him clothing when naked, and visited him when he was sick or in prison were invited to enter into the king’s realm.  Those so welcomed asked, “When did we do all these things?” The king’s response rings down through the ages: “As you have done it to the least of these, you have done it to me.”

 

The punitive side of the great judgement comes next.  The king banishes those who did not feed, clothe, welcome, quench, or visit him to the eternal fires prepared for the devil and his angels – in other words, separated from God.  He tells them: “As you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to me.”

 

As I mentioned last week, Jesus is in his last few days of earthly ministry.  He is getting across his most urgent teachings. It can be argued that this passage is the ethical high point of the gospels.

 

For sure, it draws a stark contrast between an earthly realm and a heavenly realm. I guess the question I would leave you with: In which realm will you choose live – the one that values attainment, comfort, status, and worldly success – with personal flaws hidden from sight – or the realm in which caring for the “least of these” is the sign of belonging?

Managing Our Treasures

HOMILY, ST. PAUL’S, FOLEY – PROPER 28, YEAR A

NOVEMBER 15, 2020 

 

TEXT:                        Matthew 25:14-30

 

 

Jesus is in the last week of his earthly life in the Gospel lesson today.  He is in Jerusalem and has taught in the Temple.  He is beyond Palm Sunday. He sees the storm clouds on the horizon.  He knows what is in store for him.  There is special urgency in his teachings.

 

That is precisely why we take the Gospel lessons last week, this week, and next week from the 25^th Chapter of Matthew. It will be, for us, the end of Year A in the lectionary, but it represents so much more for Jesus.  He is imparting what he can in his final days.

 

Today is the Parable of the Talents.  It is a remarkably rich lesson – one that has been interpreted to a fare-thee-well over years.  In reviewing how various preachers have dealt with it over the years, I am struck by the diversity of meanings that preachers have found.

 

The essence of the lesson is this. A landowner is leaving his country, and he places his slaves in charge of his riches.  One slave is entrusted with five talents.  Another is entrusted with two.  A third is given one.  These were monetary amounts – not personal attributes, such as we describe talents today.  There is a wide variety of how talents were measured in ancient days, but a Hebrew talent translated into about 67 pounds of some valuable metal.  If the talents were made of gold – the more entrusted slave was left with more than $10 million in today’s value.  The second slave was left with $4 million.  The third slave was entrusted with $2 million.

 

You know the rest.  After a period of time, the landowner returns and wants to settle accounts. The slave entrusted with five talents makes five talents more.  The one who was given two talents makes two talents more.  But the one who was given one talent earned nothing – returning only what he had been given.

 

As you know, the landowner is pleased with the first two, but takes the sole talent away from the third slave and casts him into the outer darkness. The two enterprising slaves are rewarded.

 

Is this a lesson about entrepreneurship?  About assuming risk? About grabbing all you can?

 

No, I don’t think it is.  I think it is a message that we hear again and again from Jesus. It has to do with stewardship – not of money or belongings – but of the Kingdom of God.  As Jesus tells his detractors in the 21^st Chapter of Matthew, “Therefore I tell you, the kingdom of God will be taken away from you and given to a people that produces the fruits of the kingdom.”

 

Jesus knows that the patriarchs, Moses, the prophets had all sought to teach the way of justice, peace, and righteousness down through the millennia. And his point was repeatedly, that the message had not gotten through.  And the Kingdom of God would be given to those that produce the fruits of the Kingdom.

 

We need to be aware of the same warning.  Are we producing the fruits of the Kingdom?  Are we multiplying the talents – the spiritual treasures – with which we have been entrusted?

 

Or, out of fear or avoidance, are we hiding our treasure, planning to return only what we have been given? 

Surprised by Joy

 HOMILY, ST. PAUL’S, FOLEY – PROPER 27, YEAR A

NOVEMBER 8, 2020 

 

TEXTS:                      1 Thessalonians 4:13-18; Matthew 25:1-13

 

 

“We do not want you to be uninformed, brothers and sisters, about those who have died, so that you may not grieve as others do who have no hope.”

 

These are St. Paul’s words to the young church at Thessalonica.  They are meant to reassure the new Christians there. Words of hope.

 

Bishop N. T. Wright of England, a noted biblical scholar, evangelical, and prolific author, wrote a book that was published in 2007.  It was entitled, Surprised by Joy.  It is a thorough treatment of the meaning of the resurrection and how it has largely been misinterpreted and individualized over the centuries by western theologians.

 

He contends – in a very complex book – that the resurrection of Jesus means much more than the spiritualizing of death.  He wrote that the resurrection is a foretaste of a new creation which will one-day embrace this world and all of Jesus’ followers. Jesus’ resurrection is a promise of things to come – a foretaste.

 

He seeks to disabuse us of the notion that we can build the Kingdom of God by ourselves, and the opposing notion that nothing we do matters.  He writes, however, that our efforts in this life will be enhanced and fulfilled when God’s creation reaches its ultimate conclusion – what we call the Day of the Lord.

 

That day, though, is resistant to our attempts to describe or define it.  The scriptural references are highly symbolic.  We hope – as Bishop Wright says – for something we do not understand and cannot adequately articulate.

 

Jesus’ own parable in today’s gospel lesson is symbolic.  We cannot literally say that the mysterious, promised, and longed-for moment will be like wise and foolish maidens awaiting a bridegroom.  The thrust is that, ultimately, that day will come. And we get his drift: “Keep awake therefore, for you know neither the day nor the hour.”

 

In the meanwhile, we can rest in hope. It is central to our proclamation and faith.

Claiming Our Sainthood

 HOMILY, ST. PAUL’S, FOLEY – ALL SAINTS’ DAY

NOVEMBER 1, 2020 

 

TEXT:                        Revelation 7:9-17; Matthew 5:1-12

 

 

I once did a brief “children’s sermon” on All Saints’ Sunday.  I thought it would be light and harmless.  I posed a question to the children, gathered at my feet: “Can you name a saint?” Since we were at St. Patrick’s Church, I assumed someone would respond with St. Patrick, or any other well-known saint, such as St. Paul or St. John.

 

One young boy eagerly raised his hand and said, “I know! I know!” I called on him and his response was surprising: “Bobby Hebert!”

 

The young boy had named the quarterback of the New Orleans Saints.  The boy didn’t know it, but he was being theologically profound.

 

+ + + 

 

Today and tomorrow we are observing two major feasts of the church: All Saints’ Day (today) and All Souls’ Day(tomorrow).  The first has to do with all the saints, and the second has to do with the faithful departed.

 

All Saints’ Day can be traced back to the fourth century, largely to commemorate the well-known and lesser-known saints of the earlier centuries – and also the thousands of Christian martyrs who had gone to their reward in the Roman persecutions of the first through third centuries.

 

All Souls’ Day was rooted in the theological belief in purgatory.  The day was set aside for remembering those ordinary Christians who had gone to a holding place while their minor sins were expunged.

 

We, of course, do not profess any sort of belief in purgatory. A saint is a saint – that is the nature of the grace of God.  There is now a blending of All Saints’ and All Souls’ Days.

 

The young boy who answered Bobby Hebert to my question had a point.  We believe that when baptized, a person becomes a member of the household of God.  As the Book of Common Prayer says, “The bond established by God in baptism is indissoluble.”

 

So, we count ourselves and those loved ones who have gone before us as members of the masses of humanity who stand before the throne of God in the reading today from the Book of Revelation.  That is a source of comfort.  Life continues, even beyond the grave.

 

But there is instruction, too, in the gospel lesson.  Jesus speaks to us of the characteristics of the saints in the Beatitudes from the Sermon on the Mount. The poor in spirit, those who mourn, the meek, those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, the merciful, the pure in heart, the peacemakers, and those who are persecuted.

 

By our baptisms, we have been justified – that is, we are saints by the grace of God.  Jesus reminds us in the Beatitudes of the characteristics of saints’ lives – eight traits (maybe even nine) for us to aspire to in our lives.

 

As we do so, we can claim our full inclusion more and more in this great feast day of the church.

 

A Feast for Minor Disciples

 ONLINE REFLECTION, ST. PAUL’S, FOLEY

OCTOBER 28, 2020

 

OCCASION:             The Feast of St. Simon and St. Jude

 

 

Today in the church year is set aside as a major feast day – the Feast of St. Simon and St. Jude.

 

They were two of the lesser-known disciples of Jesus. They are among the lists of disciples in the synoptic gospels of Matthew, Mark, and Luke, and in the Book of Acts.  The Gospel according to John does not have an exhaustive list of the disciples.

 

If you are wondering about Jude – he is sometimes referred to as Thaddeus. He is also said to be the author of one of the epistles of the New Testament, the Letter of Jude – a one-chapter epistle that includes some memorable phrases.  I will finish with one in a moment.

 

As I mentioned, we know very little about Simon – called the Zealot – and Jude.  They were disciples of Jesus, largely in the background of his ministry.

 

Tradition ties Simon and Jude together by indicating they had a joint mission to Persia, modern-day Iran, in the early days of the church.  The various disciples had their ministries in different parts of the world – John, of course, ended up on Patmos; James was in Jerusalem; and Peter ultimately ended up in Rome.

 

Tradition holds that Simon and Jude met their ends when crucified in Beirut, Lebanon.  There is, of course, no accurate record.

 

Perhaps the most frequent reference to either of them is the fact that Jude is a patron saint of hopeless causes.  His ministry and the memory of both Simon and Jude is cause for remembrance.

 

The final two verses of Jude’s letter in the New Testament are these:

 

“Now to him who is able to keep you from falling, and to make you stand without blemish in the presence of his glory with rejoicing, to the only God our Savior, through Jesus Christ our Lord, be glory, majesty, power, and authority, before all time and now and forever.”

 

Promises Made

 HOMILY, ST. PAUL’S, FOLEY – PROPER 25, YEAR A

OCTOBER 25, 2020 

 

TEXT:                        Deuteronomy 34:1-12

 

 

In the first lesson, we have Moses’ death.  It is the end of the Moses saga.  He first appears in Exodus, and his presence permeates Leviticus, Numbers and Deuteronomy.  The first five books of the Bible are known as Torah, the Law.  They are also known as the Five Books of Moses.  The Sadducees of Jesus’ day accepted no other scripture as being divinely-inspired.  Not the prophets.  Not the wisdom literature.  Not the faith history books about Israel, Judah, and their kings.

 

Moses is standing in what is modern-day Jordan.  He is on Mt. Nebo, looking over at the Promised Land.  The view is spectacular.  The vast expanse of the Jordan River Valley and the Judean Hills stretch out before him.  Jericho, the city of springs and palms, is a tiny dot in the distance.  On a clear day, he could see all the way to the Mediterranean Sea.

 

But Mt. Nebo is as close as Moses will get.  He will not cross the Jordan into the land he had been shown. He dies and is buried there – short of his dream. He will forever be remembered as the Prince of Egypt, a Hebrew, who led his people out of bondage in Egypt.  But he will not taste the flavors of the Land of Milk and Honey.  For him, the promise was theoretical.  Just as it had been for Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.

 

Or was it?  

 

Is a promise deferred, a promise denied?  Does the fact that Moses did not walk the last few dusty miles into the Promised Land negate God’s abiding promise – made to him and multiple generations of patriarchs and matriarchs?

 

The thing we lose sight of in our highly individualistic culture is the notion of the corporate nature of God’s promises.  They are made to a people – first, the descendants of Abraham, then the Hebrew people, then the followers of the crucified rabbi, then the young, fledgling church, and over the centuries, the promise has been conveyed to the successors.  The ever-widening circle has included many races and nations.

 

Those promises – down through the millennia – have been to people… ever-broader groups of people.  We know those promises and blessings most fully as a community of faith.  And we come to know their timelessness, too.

 

That is because the blessings transcend our lives.  We are dust, and to dust we shall return. Yet the promise endures.  We may be like Moses, and never reach our dreams.  But as people of hope, we can always rest assured that the promise continues.  

Venturing from Safe Waters

ONLINE REFLECTION, ST. PAUL’S, FOLEY

OCTOBER 21, 2020

 

LESSON:       The Prayer of Sir Francis Drake

 

 

As we begin to emerge from the chaos that has surrounded us in the next several months, our tendency might be to play things safely.

 

When political chaos, economic clouds, pandemic threats, and storms on the horizon have subsided, we may want to find safe harbors in which to live.  An old saying in psychological theory says that stress brings on regression.  That may be very tempting to us, in light of all that we have endured.  Seafarers, such as Paul in his journey to Rome, found rest in a quiet harbor.

 

But there is another way to view life – and that is to dare greatly.  A new world will be awaiting creation.  We cannot craft and mold it from our warm, safe places.

 

That sense of risk and adventure was close to the heart of the 16^th Century English Sea Captain, Sir Francis Drake. His bold embrace of life led him to circumnavigate the globe, when that was a very dangerous thing to do at that time, and serve as the second in command in the British defeat of the Spanish Armada.

 

He wrote a poem that I first heard quoted by the Reverend Frank Wade, rector of St. Alban’s Church, Washington, when he was chaplain to the House of Deputies at General Convention.  It is both stirring and encouraging. Listen to his words.

 

Prayer of Sir Francis Drake 

 

Disturb us, Lord, when
We are too well pleased with ourselves, 

When our dreams have come true 

Because we have dreamed too little, 

When we arrived safely
Because we sailed too close to the shore. 

 

Disturb us, Lord, when
With the abundance of things we possess 

We have lost our thirst
For the waters of life;
Having fallen in love with life,
We have ceased to dream of eternity 

And in our efforts to build a new earth, 

We have allowed our vision
Of the new Heaven to dim. 

 

Disturb us, Lord, to dare more boldly, 

To venture on wider seas
Where storms will show your mastery; 

Where losing sight of land, 

We shall find the stars.
We ask You to push back
The horizons of our hopes;
And to push into the future
In strength, courage, hope, and love. 

 

AMEN 

 

Those are good words – and a strong sentiment – to keep in mind as we come out from under this cloud of chaos.

  

The Source of Blessings

 HOMILY, ST. PAUL’S, FOLEY – PROPER 24, YEAR A

OCTOBER 18, 2020 

 

TEXT:                        Matthew 22:15-22

 

 

My brother, Jerry, is an accomplished retired attorney.  His wife is a determined woman who once was the first female head of the Highway Patrol in Mississippi.  There is little that she has not delved into.

 

My brother once described their division of responsibilities in this way: Louisa is an expert on everything and I handle the rest.

 

That is kind of a perverse illustration of what Jesus says to us in the gospel lesson from Matthew today.

 

In the gospel lesson, the Pharisees and the Herodians – people tied closely to the Roman puppet king – are trying to lure Jesus into a trap. “Is it lawful to pay taxes to Caesar?”

 

The gospel tells us that Jesus is aware of their malice and trickery.  He asks them to show him a coin, and they do so – a common coin of the day a denarius. “Whose image is on it?” “Caesar,” they respond.

 

“Give therefore to the emperor the things that are the emperor’s, and to God the things that are God’s.” Simple enough, right?  His response confounds the challengers.  They have nothing on which to charge him with a spiritual or civil offense.

 

I used to see a clear dichotomy between spiritual blessings and secular possessions. I work hard. I earn what I make. I have accumulated these possessions rightfully. Life is what I make of it. Sure, I made my pledge to the church each year and felt quite righteous in doing just that.

 

But, over the years my perspective changed.  My spiritual journey has taken me to great depths, for which I am thankful. My heart is filled with gratitude. I recognized – as we say when we approach the Eucharistic table – All things come of thee, O Lord.  My life, my health, my family, my breath, my vocation, whatever gifts I have – they all come from God.  Everything. I wonder: Do we mean what we say?

 

So, if we are honest with ourselves, we recognize that none of us is a self-made person.  We recognize – again, if our journey has taken us deeply enough – that all of our blessings come from God.

 

That is a meaningful concept to have in mind as we approach this season of giving.  

 

Quite a Fish Tale

 ONLINE REFLECTION, ST. PAUL’S, FOLEY

OCTOBER 14, 2020

 

LESSON:       The Book of Jonah

 

 

Nearly every person that has attended Sunday School as a young person knows one thing about Jonah:  He was swallowed by a whale.

 

But not exactly.  He was, scripture tells us, swallowed by a great fish. And, of course, a whale is not a fish!

 

The back story about Jonah, though, is an interesting one – and one that most people don’t know.

 

The Jonah whose story is told in the eponymous book is the story of a reluctant Galilean prophet.  He was called by God to go a preach repentance to the massive city known as Nineveh – located in modern-day Iraq.

 

But, Jonah didn’t want to do that.  So, he boarded a ship to flee to Tarshish – a city 3,000 miles away in Spain.  During the journey, a storm arose. Lots were cast, and he was selected as the one to be thrown overboard.  It was then that he was swallowed by the fish.

 

After three days, the fish vomited him up on dry land.  The reluctant Jonah proceeded to walk across Nineveh, proclaiming its coming destruction.

 

Jonah must have been satisfied with himself, and he sat down to watch the city’s destruction. Unexpectedly, the people repented – and all put on sackcloth, sat in ashes, and refused to consume food or water… animals and humans.

 

The fact that the city repented and that destruction did not come displeased Jonah.  He expressed his anger to God, essentially saying, “I knew you would do this!”

 

But, the book concludes with God expressing compassion for the penitent city: “Do you not care for this great city and all its inhabitants? People who do not know their left hand from their right?” And humorously, the last verse of Jonah says that Nineveh also has “many animals.”

 

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The upshot of this story: It is important for us to remember that we worship a merciful God.

The Virtue of Patience

HOMILY, ST. PAUL’S, FOLEY – PROPER 23, YEAR A

OCTOBER 11, 2020 

 

TEXT:                        Exodus 32:1-14

 

 

In the first lesson today, Moses had ascended Mt. Sinai.  Unknown to the mass of Hebrews he had liberated from slavery in Egypt and was leading through the wilderness, he had received the a covenant from God while he was up the mountain.  They assumed he was lost; they did not know where he was and if he would even return. The biblical expression of 40 days and 40 nights was mean to convey an indefinitely long time.

 

These are the same people who had been fed by manna and quail in the wilderness, had been delivered through the waters of the Red Sea, had been given water from a rock, and had been led by a pillar of cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night.  They had much to look back on – and much to be thankful for.

 

Yet, in Moses absence they had grown impatient.  They felt lost and abandoned.  They were like sheep without a shepherd – and even without a border collie to guide them.  They were at wit’s end.

 

So, they turned to their own devices. Their sense of being alone led them to abandon the hope for a Promised Land that Moses had instilled in them.  They asked Aaron to forge an idol for them.  And he did.

 

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How quickly people become impatient.  How soon they lose their sense of perspective and hope.

 

These days – our time now – can lead to such impatience and grasping at straws.  Just in the past week I have encountered three major automobile accidents that were, in all likelihood, caused by someone who had become so impatient that the driver took dangerous actions.

 

I know we all feel impatient.  I, myself, have commented that I am so tired of all the chaos – with Covid, political divisions, economic struggles, the threat of destructive weather, and its aftermath.  I suspect we all know that feeling. And we wonder if it will ever end.

 

Let me share a theological point here:  Moses came down from the Mountain. More importantly, Jesus came down from the cross and out of the tomb.

 

We are a people of patience and a people of hope.  On matters eternal, we see the grave is a gateway to greater life. On matters of less importance, our waiting patiently will allow us to enter a new world and a deeper relationship.

 

Known by the Fruits

 ONLINE REFLECTION, ST. PAUL’S, FOLEY

SEPTEMBER 30, 2020

 

LESSON:       Luke 7:18-35

 

We are to assume that John the Baptist and Jesus went separate ways once Jesus had been baptized.  Jesus, of course, had gone into the wilderness afterwards.  John, it is believed, continued his ministry of preaching and baptizing in the Jordan River.

 

John the Baptist had offended Herod Antipas – the son of Herod the Great, and king of the region of Israel where John preached.  John had criticized Antipas for marrying Herodias, his brother’s wife. So, Antipas had him imprisoned and would ultimately have him beheaded.

 

But at the point of this lesson, John is in prison. Prison, I suppose, does strange things to a person’s mind.  That was certainly true of John.  He is wondering whether Jesus is “the one who is to come” – a point he had emphatically proclaimed at the baptism. Imprisonment and knowledge of impending death have caused him to doubt.

 

So, John sends two of his disciples to see Jesus.  “Are you the one who is to come?  Or should we wait for another?”

 

Jesus response is telling: “Go and tell John what you have seen and heard: The blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, the poor have good news brought to them.”

 

Jesus is basically saying, I am known by the fruits I produce. These are my fruits…

 

We know and recognize plants by their fruits.  An apple comes from an apple tree. Pecans come from a pecan tree.  Lemons come from a lemon tree.  And so forth.

 

Analogously, we produce the fruits of our true beliefs.  Jesus’ works are more dramatic.  But scripture describes the other fruits that the followers of Jesus are to produce and live the characteristics of the children of God:  Blessed are the pure in heart; blessed are the peacemakers; blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness; blessed are the meek, among others.  We feed the hungry, we clothe the naked, we welcome the stranger, we comfort the grieving.

 

The popular hymn has the refrain, They will know we are Christians by our love. Our faith produces attitudes and fruits that serve to identify us.  Those attitudes and fruits will bear witness to others who wonder.