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.

To Be Transformed

 HOMILY, ST. PAUL’S, FOLEY – LAST EPIPHANY, YEAR B

FEBRUARY 14, 2021

 

TEXT:                        2 Kings 2:1-12; Mark 9:2-9

 

 

            If I am honest with myself – and with you – I acknowledge that under the best of circumstances I barely touch the surface of the scriptures we read each week.

 

            That is especially true today.

 

            We have two powerful lessons – one from the Old Testament, and one from the Gospel according to Mark.  They tell us very important stories – stories at the center of salvation history.

 

            A rabbi, studying Tanakh – the Jewish scriptures we call the Old Testament – would view this story through thousands of years of tradition, poring over the many nuances ancient sources would disclose to him.  He would reveal the many layers of meaning to the story of Elijah’s assumption into heaven, like peeling the layers of an onion.

 

            Likewise, a Christian scholar would look at Mark’s account of the transfiguration.  The scholar would look at the text, the ancient language in which it was written, the placement of the passage in the gospel, the words chosen, the history of interpretation, and would certainly connect the transfiguration narrative to the story of Elijah being taken into heaven.

 

            But we cannot do all that today. I do not have the time, and you would not be able to stay awake! You would likely rather watch paint dry.

 

            I do, however, want to point out three things about these two passages, here as Lent is at our doorstep.

 

            First, these are not random stories – and they show us that both Elijah and Jesus are regarded as great figures. Elijah is known as “the prophet” in Judaism.  Jesus is known as the Christ… the Messiah… the Anointed One in Christianity. Clearly these passages tell us that God views them as truly special.

 

            The second thing I would note is the connection between these two stories.  In the first, Elijah is taken up in the whirlwind as his successor, Elisha, cries, “My father, my father!  The chariots of Israel and its horseman.”  Then Elijah is done.

 

            Then, in an ecstatic moment on the mountaintop, Elijah appears again 1,500 years later, along with Moses, the greatest figure in the Old Testament.  And they are talking with Jesus, even as his clothes glowed with what is called the shekinah – the radiance of God’s presence.

 

            The third thing I would point out to you is the most mundane, but perhaps the most important thing for our lives and journey of faith:  transfiguration.  While we are unlikely to glow with the shekinah – the radiance of Moses coming down from Sinai and the beaming of Jesus on the mountaintop – we can anticipate that we may experience something just as important: transformation.

 

            Just as Peter, and James, and John, were dramatically impacted by that trip to the mountaintop and by their relationship to Jesus, we, too, can be changed.  The things which matter in our lives – those things which obstruct right relationships with God and one another – can be transformed… changed… altered in ways that can make our lives new.

 

            But it involves going to the figurative mountaintop and giving ourselves up again and again and again.  The transformation may be subtle, but it will come.

 

Being All Things

HOMILY, ST. PAUL’S, FOLEY – 5 EPIPHANY, YEAR B

FEBRUARY 7, 2021

 

TEXT:                        1 Corinthians 9:16-23

 

 

            The Episcopal Church of the Resurrection in Starkville, Mississippi, was one of my cures during my active ministry.  Those were eight of the happiest years of my life.  I love to tell folks about my time there – the wonderful group of octogenarians in the congregation, the special Thursday services with unction, the lunches afterwards, the bizarre Vestry retreats, great friends, wonderful baseball, and growth opportunities causing me to expand my horizons.

 

            But there was a problem.  Not one easily resolved.  Starkville is the city where Mississippi State University is located.  The president of the university, Dr. Donald Zacharias, attended the church.  Faculty members and students abounded. One of the gifts I received at my Celebration of New Ministry was a maroon blazer.  Clear enough?

 

            The problem was that I had attended Ole Miss.  I had been reared on Ole Miss.  One of my teenage idols was Archie Manning, My parents had met at Ole Miss.  I bled red and blue.

 

            Rudyard Kipling had written, “Never the twain shall meet.” But, in this case, they had to.

 

            Again, and again, incredulous Ole Miss friends and skeptical parishioners posed a question to me: “How do you do it?  How are you both an Ole Miss fan and a pastor to Bulldogs?”

 

            It was resolved instinctively, in a scriptural way.  It is in our lesson from First Corinthians today.  St. Paul wrote these words: “I have become all things to all people, that I might by all means save some. I do it all for the sake of the gospel, so that I may share in its blessings.”

 

            He said even more before. “For though I am free with respect to all, I have made myself a slave to all, so that I might win more of them. To the Jews I became as a Jew, in order to win Jews. To those under the law I became as one under the law (though I myself am not under the law) so that I might win those under the law. To those outside the law I became as one outside the law (though I am not free from God's law but am under Christ's law) so that I might win those outside the law. To the weak I became weak, so that I might win the weak.”

 

            Paul’s wisdom speaks to us down through 2,000 years of history.

 

            The best we have to offer others is our own example. St. Francis said, “Preach the gospel always, and if necessary, use words.” That means that our very lives – how we walk the walk – should bear witness to what we believe. Our actions are more important than our words.

 

            In fact, our lives do bear witness to our beliefs.  Think about that.

 

            What I came to know in Starkville was humbling.  It was not I who was molding others; it was I who was being molded.

 

            Sometimes we learn that lesson when we are being all things to all people.