The High Price of the Word

PROPERS:          1 CHRISTMAS, YEAR C      

TEXT:                JOHN 1:1-18; ACTS 6:8-7:2a,51c-60

PREACHED AT ST. PAUL’S CHAPEL, MAGNOLIA SPRINGS, ON SUNDAY, DECEMBER 26, 2021.

 

ONE SENTENCE:        The Word of God is not some easily heard and applied message of a free life, but one that requires a serious response.   

 

            In the Gospel lesson we have what is known as the Prologue to John – the first 18 verses of John’s gospel, the prelude to all that will follow.

            John’s gospel – the last of the four in the Bible – is inarguably the most theologically profound of the gospels.  It stands alone in content and meaning.  And all that begins with the first 18 verses:

 

“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.” (John 1:1-5)

 

            John is getting across the point that the baby Jesus – and the man Jesus – was not ordinary.  He is the preexistent Word – in Greek, the Logos.  Logos was a theological and philosophical concept in ancient times; ancient Stoic philosophers referred to the logos spermatikos as the generative spirit present in creation.

 

            John the Evangelist took those various understandings and pointed toward Jesus: “Here is the Word incarnate.  He has always been and will always be.  All things came into being through him.”

 

            On a more basic level, we have come to the Word of God in a banal, neutral way.  It is harmless – it is meant to assure us of divine approval and love.  It is soft and malleable – no one should be offended by it.

 

            Try telling that to the saint whose life we commemorate tomorrow – St. Stephen, the first Christian martyr.

 

            St. Stephen’s feast day is one which we seldom get to celebrate.  It comes hard on the heels of Christmas when our attention is focused elsewhere. To him, the utterance – through proclamation – of the Word was a literal matter of life and death.

 

            Stephen was among the first group of seven deacons chosen to serve the church – seven Hellenistic Jews chosen by traditional Jews.  They were ordained to tend the needs of the world, to provide care and sustenance to widows and orphans within the ecclesia – the fellowship of the faithful. 

 

            The story of his call, selection and ordination are in Acts, Chapter 6.  Yet, his ministry and his proclamation of the Word were short. Soon after he was ordained, we are told later in that same chapter:

 

“Stephen, full of grace and power, did great wonders and signs among the people. Then some of those who belonged to the synagogue of the Freedmen (as it was called), Cyrenians, Alexandrians, and others of those from Cilicia and Asia, stood up and argued with Stephen. But they could not withstand the wisdom and the Spirit with which he spoke. Then they secretly instigated some men to say, “We have heard him speak blasphemous words against Moses and God.” They stirred up the people as well as the elders and the scribes; then they suddenly confronted him, seized him, and brought him before the council. They set up false witnesses who said, “This man never stops saying things against this holy place and the law; for we have heard him say that this Jesus of Nazareth will destroy this place and will change the customs that Moses handed on to us.” And all who sat in the council looked intently at him, and they saw that his face was like the face of an angel.

 

“Then the high priest asked him, “Are these things so?”

 

“And Stephen replied: “Brothers and fathers, listen to me. You are forever opposing the Holy Spirit, just as your ancestors used to do. Which of the prophets did your ancestors not persecute? They killed those who foretold the coming of the Righteous One, and now you have become his betrayers and murderers. You are the ones that received the law as ordained by angels, and yet you have not kept it.”

 

“When they heard these things, they became enraged and ground their teeth at Stephen. But filled with the Holy Spirit, he gazed into heaven and saw the glory of God and Jesus standing at the right hand of God. “Look,” he said, “I see the heavens opened and the Son of Man standing at the right hand of God!” But they covered their ears, and with a loud shout all rushed together against him. Then they dragged him out of the city and began to stone him; and the witnesses laid their coats at the feet of a young man named Saul. While they were stoning Stephen, he prayed, “Lord Jesus, receive my spirit.” Then he knelt down and cried out in a loud voice, “Lord, do not hold this sin against them.” When he had said this, he died.” (Acts 6:8-7:2a,51c-60)

 

 

            Stephen paid the price many would pay after him for the genuine articulation of the substance of Jesus – the proclamation of the Logos.

 

            His example should be chastening to us – the genuine Logos is not without price.  Some examples are dramatic, like the martyrdom of Dietrich Bonhoeffer in a Nazi prison in 1945, or Anglican Archbishop Janani Luwum at the hands of Idi Amin in Uganda in 1977, or Roman Catholic Archbishop Oscar Romero, murdered as he celebrated the Mass in El Salvador in 1980.

 

            Those are among countless dramatic examples.  But more often is the price paid by people who proclaim the Wordfaithfully in the pulpits, churches, communities, and organizations.  They are shunned, belittled, harassed, and lose their jobs for their faithfulness.  I have seen it happen.

 

The author of the Letter to the Hebrews wrote, 

 

“Indeed, the word of God is living and active, sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing until it divides soul from spirit, joints from marrow; it is able to judge the thoughts and intentions of the heart.” (Hebrews 4:12)

 

            Yes, it is.  The Logos that slept in that manger on the first Christmas night was, indeed, tender and mild.  But the truth of his Word – the hard truth to love, forgive, give, and serve – would be, and is, hard for many.

  

Christmas Eve: A Healing Light

 PROPERS:          CHRISTMAS EVE, YEAR C

TEXT:                ISAIAH 9:2-7; LUKE 2:1-20

PREACHED AT ST. PAUL’S CHAPEL, MAGNOLIA SPRINGS, ON CHRISTMAS EVE, DECEMBER 24, 2021.

 

ONE SENTENCE:        The light born on this night redeems, heals, and reconciles us.   

 

The prophecy of Isaiah – and our first lesson – included these words:

 

The people who walked in darkness
have seen a great light; 

those who lived in a land of deep darkness--
on them light has shined.

 

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            There are two primary images of light which come to mind tonight.

 

            The first is from some 60 years ago when my cousins and I, as grandchildren, would sneak down the winding stairways to the dark kitchen in my grandmother’s house in Hattiesburg, Mississippi.

 

            As mischievous pre-teens, we had an ulterior motive.  We would creep quietly down the darkened staircase toward the lightless kitchen.

 

            When we reached the bottom, one of us would reach around the corner toward the light switch… and turn it on suddenly. The floor would move!  Roaches, bugs, vermin and other creepy-crawly things would scurry toward their dark hiding places.  We were delighted and would cackle with laughter!

 

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            The other concept of light I want to share is much more recent.  It is on the cutting edge of science.

 

            Researchers have learned in recent years the many healing dimensions to light. It has been proved that certain frequencies of light waves can facilitate healing in wounds that are festering. Likewise, it has been shown that certain light waves can slow the progress of multiple sclerosis.

 

            Living here near the beach, probably all of us here have been aware of how sunlight can clear skin – eliminating blemishes or reducing scars.

 

            All of these healing properties are facilitated by purposely brief exposures to the light source.  Otherwise, damage may be done. A brief x-ray. The radiologist’s carefully guided gamma knife. The dermatologist’s focused scope. A reasonable amount of the sun’s rays. All can be healing.

 

            One other brief image of light. Think of this.  Tomorrow, Christmas Day, the largest space telescope ever will be launched into orbit. The James Webb telescope will be able to discern light waves nearly as old as creation – 13 billion years ago.

 

            But what about light that emanates from around the world… from a remote village in a small country… and shines through 2,000 years?

 

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            As Christians, we mark this day as the birth of a new light – a light which shines through the darkness of all times and radiates healing, redemptive power to all peoples and nations.

 

            This night marks the night of nights… the day of days… from which each of us draws deep and profound meaning.  It is there for each of us, not some of us.

 

            The light of the Bethlehem star illumined that night, but the brilliance which was born in that stable has shined in hearts for two millennia. It has bonded us to God, overcoming what the Law could never do.  That light has healed broken relationships and renewed lives that were lost in despair.  It has given hope where there was none and has inspired some of the greatest thinkers, theologians, musicians, poets, and humanitarians. 

 

            It shines through the darkness in the life, teachings, death, and resurrection of the child born that night.  We gather here because of blessings resting in that manger. The child… the boy… the man, Jesus lives and shines in our lives.

 

            If we allow him to. We have to embrace the light.  We must claim it as our own.

 

            Otherwise, another aspect of light will come into play. Light illumines – and it also casts shadows.  In each of us, we have known those shadows. The aspects of ourselves we refuse to admit scurry like those vermin in my grandmother’s house – hiding from the light.  The psychologist Carl Jung called it our shadow.

 

            There is no shame in it.  All of us have one. It can only control us if we deny its existence – and we ignore the light.

 

            So, the task for us on this Christmas Eve is to commit to embrace the light.  We are to bring that healing, renewing, cleansing light into the dark corners of our souls, where it will make our shadows shrink smaller and smaller.

 

            Then, truly, our lights can shine.

Divine Movement in the Darkness

PROPERS:          FOURTH SUNDAY OF ADVENT, YEAR C     

TEXT:                LUKE 1:39-55

PREACHED AT ST. PAUL’S CHAPEL, MAGNOLIA SPRINGS, ON SUNDAY, DECEMBER 19, 2021.

 

ONE SENTENCE:        The dramatic movement of God is done most notably in the deep valleys of doubt and fear.

 

            Today is frequently known as Mary Sunday, because this is a story about her – and her visit to her cousin Elizabeth and her voicing of the Magnificat.  William Wordsworth might have classified that poem as a spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings.

 

            But it is possible – I say possible – that history may have glamorized Mary’s experience. It is conceivable that a 14-year-old Mary, facing the prospect of an arranged marriage with Joseph, was torn by what life was dealing her. So, she retreated to a cave in her hometown of Nazareth to seek some solitude and peace.

 

            It was in that cave – now a part of the Basilica of the Annunciation – that life got really complicated for her. There, we are told, she was visited by the archangel Gabriel who told her that she would conceive and bear a very special child.

 

            She may have been struggling before. Now her life was really complicated.  But God was moving through the chaos.  That movement echoes through this season and day.

 

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            In October 2005, I was on the staff of the Diocese of Mississippi.  We were shy of two months after the landfall of Hurricane Katrina.

 

            The chaos was unlike anything I had ever seen. Bishop Gray and I drove to the coast three days after the storm and what I saw brought to mind the destruction of Hiroshima in World War II.  The coast, several blocks inland, was laid waste.  We lost six churches to the tidal surge and raging winds – including one that had been built while I was vicar there.

 

            From that day on, the diocesan headquarters was a war room – operating 24-hours a day, with all efforts focused on recovery.

 

            All diocesan staff over-functioned.  The hours were long and grueling. We all felt the pressure of the time.

 

            October 2005. In the midst of a meeting I was chairing at the cathedral, I began to experience what would later be diagnosed as subtle neurological symptoms. No one else was aware, but I was. I was fried to a crisp.

 

            I went home, went to bed, and Nora called a good friend who was a doctor.  He came and checked me out and got me an appointment with a neurologist.  For two days I slept in a dark room.  I had hit the wall – and the wall would not give way.

 

            But those were the most grace-filled days of my life. Through the darkness of my dreams, two images came to me repeatedly: The passage from Acts, Chapter 26, where Paul tells King Agrippa of his conversion along the road to Damascus.  Of course, he was struck blind by a light and heard a voice say, “Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me?  It hurts you to kick against the goads.”

 

            I would later learn that goads are a sharp tool for herding sheep. I would be aware of his feeble efforts.

 

            I was also repeatedly reminded of Paul’s words from the 8^th chapter of the Letter to the Romans: “For I am convinced that neither death nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Jesus Christ our Lord.”

 

            Those words strengthen me today.

 

It was a mystical experience.  And it convinced me once again that God moves most profoundly in our darkest moments.  As the Psalmist says, “Out of the depths have I called to thee, Lord hear my cry.”

 

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            The motif of God moving through the darkest moments is repeated throughout all history. The Roman oppression and tyranny that ruled the land of the first Christmas. The darkness and sorrow of the cross and tomb. Paul being struck blind on the road to Damascus. Martin Luther’s deep and profound brokenness leading to his discovery in the Letter to the Romans. Julian Norwich, seemingly deathly ill, experiencing Revelations of Divine Love and learning that all manner of things shall be made well.

 

            Ask any person in recovery from addiction – healing starts, God’s movement, comes in the deepest valley. It was true 2,000 years ago – and it is true now.

 

            And here we are. The longest and darkest night of the year is approaching.  But a new light is about to shine.  The challenge is for us to embrace that light, and let its eternal hope shine in us always.

 

            Like blessed Mary, we will be sustained. 

Seeking Clearer Vision

 PROPERS:          THIRD SUNDAY OF ADVENT, YEAR C         

TEXT:                LUKE 3:7-18

PREACHED AT ST. PAUL’S CHAPEL, MAGNOLIA SPRINGS, ON SUNDAY, DECEMBER 12, 2021.

 

ONE SENTENCE:        We should yearn for the gift of foresight that is as clear as hindsight.

 

            As a child, I yearned to travel back in time.  I just knew that if I had been “there”, I would have recognized the miracle of the incarnation, would have seen the infant Jesus as God’s movement in the world, and later would know, without a doubt, that Jesus was the Messiah.

 

            And I wondered:  Why didn’t the people of Israel and Judea see the miracle with the clarity that is so obvious to us now?

 

            In today’s gospel lesson, we have the continuing account of John the Baptist.  In a few short days, we will hear the familiar story of Mary and Joseph traveling from Nazareth to Bethlehem to be enrolled in a census.  There, Mary will deliver her first-born, Jesus.

 

            Yet, largely, the world did not take note.  

 

Years later, John the Baptist would emerge. He was a sketchy figure, opposed to religious institutions, and largely was ignored, living on the edge.

 

            The birth of Jesus had mostly escaped notice.  It was over three decades before he began his active ministry.  We are told he created a stir wherever he went as an adult.  He was noted for his opposition to the Scribes, Pharisees and Sadducees.  He was largely abandoned by his small band of followers when he was put on trial and executed.

 

            I told myself:  I would have seen through all that.

 

            But would I have?

 

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            The Scottish poet, Robert Burns, is noted for a pithy rhyme:

 

“O wad some power the giftie gie us

To see oursels as ithers see us…”

 

            That brief verse, of course, is from Burns’ poem, To a louse.  But if paraphrased, can say something quite profound. Consider this:

 

“O wad some power the giftie gie us

To see the world as I would see it…”

 

            In other words, it would be so nice if our foresight – and even present sight – would have the clarity of our hindsight.  It can completely change our perspective and understanding. We would know, without any wrestling or doubts, how to act, or which side to take.

 

            I have become aware of one application of that desire.

 

I am fascinated by World War II and the bravery of the men who fought for the Allies against the forces of totalitarianism.  That period was one of moral clarity, seeing the dangers over the horizon, and acting out of courage to save the world. I have long-adhered to an understanding that the will to fight for our principles was never in doubt.

 

But history tells us that isolationism was rampant in the United States leading up to war.  The nation, especially Congress, was reluctant to enter the conflict. The Lend Lease Act was as far as the president could get the Congress to take sides.

 

There were many factors affecting public policy.  The Axis nations sought to walk a fine line to prevent the United States from entering the war on the side of England.  There were many, many issues that led to a sense of what I call raging ambivalence.

 

Then came Pearl Harbor and the moral clarity which came afterwards.

 

My father was one of the World War II veterans who never mentioned the change in the nation’s perspective on December 7, 1941.  But change it did.  As it did for me and members of following generations.

 

We now see that era in absolutes. We have lost the sense of ambivalence which embraced the nation before December 1941. We find it hard to fathom that a member of Congress from Mississippi voted against declaring war on Japan after Pearl Harbor.

 

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My question:  How do we become able to see current events with the same moral clarity that we see in retrospect? How do we know what is the right thing to do now?

 

That questions can apply to many episodes in history:  How could we have seen with moral clarity the civil rights movement? How could we have seen with moral clarity the situation which would be revealed in light of Senator Joseph McCarthy’s “red scare” tactics?  How could we have seen clearly the truth of the strategy that would lead to the collapse of the Soviet Union?

 

I am aware of a congregation in Mississippi that ran-off a progressive priest in the early 1960s because he embraced the families of the three slain civil rights workers.  Yet later the same congregation called a priest who was far-sighted on that same issue.  How could they have bypassed their earlier myopia?

 

There is a multitude of such questions. The questions are cogent for every situation and generation.  The old saying is true: Hindsight is 20-20.  But how do we convert that clarity of hindsight to clarity of foresight?

 

That is a question for us today – in many situations.

 

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How many of us here would have heard with clarity the truth of John the Baptist’s message of repentance?  How many of us would have seen the beauty and grace present in that stable manger in the remote village of Bethlehem? Not many of us, I suspect.  The societal and peer pressure would have been too great.

 

Sadly, I do not have a simple answer.  But we can pray to have the eyes of God, to see the world and its moral complexities as he sees it.

 

As Jesus seeks to convey, we are to have the eyes of love and not the eyes of law. To once again paraphrase Robert Burns:

 

“O wad some power the giftie gie us

To see the world as HE would see it…”