Spring Has Sprung -- Meaning What?

PROPERS:          2 EASTER, YEAR C    

TEXT:                JOHN 20:19-31    

PREACHED AT ST. PAUL’S CHAPEL, MAGNOLIA SPRINGS, ON SUNDAY, APRIL 24, 2022.

 

ONE SENTENCE:        The magnificence of the resurrection is foreshadowed and promised to us in the world around us.

 

            We are in two of the most glorious of seasons – and they testify to one another.

 

            Spring – the season after the vernal equinox.  Flowers bloom, birds sing and nest, all around us is evidence of new life.  It is even more evident to those of us at St. Paul’s Chapel because of the diligent and faithful work of our junior warden, Max Maxwell, and his co-workers.

 

            We anticipate the coming of spring.  It is as dependable as the calendar.  We do not doubt it.  We await its coming. Seersucker suits and pastel dresses abound.

 

            We also have another, somewhat concurrent season.  The first Sunday after the first full moon following the vernal equinox. Easter Day, and the great 50 days of that season.

 

            Even though it comes once a year, and even though it has roots 2,000 years ago, we wonder.  What does it mean?  Can it really be true?  A dead man rising from the grave?

 

            It is source of doubt for many.  People say, “I think Jesus is a great teacher and example, but I cannot go as far as the resurrection.”  It goes against our scientific world view.  It is a stumbling block for many.

 

            Think back to that first Easter Day.

 

            As today’s gospel tells us, on that first Easter evening, the disciples were cowering in a locked room – fearful for their own lives.  Luke’s gospel tells us that just about that time, two men were walking from Jerusalem to Emmaus, a distance of some six miles.  In each account, a newly-vivified Jesus appeared. The worlds of those people were never the same.

 

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            I think we would all agree that the miracle unfolding before our eyes this spring comes from the Great Creator.  The cycle is written into the genetic code of each plant, creature, and being.  The cycles of the earth – of plant and animal – are part of the miracle of creation.

 

            Which raises a question:  If God placed his imprint on something as routine as spring, how could he notadd that mystical, but marvelous, touch to human life?

 

            The movement can all be traced back to that cloud-enveloped moment on Mt. Tabor.  Jesus and his “executive committee” (Peter, James, and John) experienced the Transfiguration on that mountain top. We recall that moment to this day on August 6 each year.

 

            It shed light on what was happening already and foreshadowed God’s work to come. It highlighted the annual cycle of renewal that was already taking place. And more: God was in the process of transfiguring all creation – and his work would bear witness to it in days to come.

 

            It was only a short time later that Lazarus was raised from the dead… and Jesus, too, walked the earth with renewed life.

 

            God is in the business of transfiguration – from brokenness to wholeness, from alienation to reunion, from war to peace, from oppression to freedom, from death to life. And even though there are ample signs to the contrary – Ukraine being an excellent example – the work is ongoing.  God’s hand continues to move throughout history.

 

            Perhaps we need to look deeper.  Maybe that will come in the years, decades, or centuries ahead.  My good friend, Tim Jones, who is a priest in Wales, says we may be defining life and death inaccurately.  He may be right.  But I believe this, we do not yet know or understand the mysteries of God’s realm.

 

            We do know this through our eyes of faith: As the author Frederick Buechner wrote, “Resurrection means the worst thing which happens to you is never the last thing.” 

To the Last and Least

 

PROPERS:          EASTER DAY, YEAR C        

TEXT:                JOHN 20:1-18              

PREACHED AT ST. PAUL’S CHAPEL, MAGNOLIA SPRINGS, ON SUNDAY, APRIL 17, 2022.

 

ONE SENTENCE:        Jesus’ message was originally meant to be Good News for the “last and least”, and the Easter Story reenforces that truth.

 

            Today is my 71^st Easter.  Half of those Easters I have celebrated as a priest.

 

            It is a truth that many, if not most, priests struggle with preaching on this day, very similar to the struggle of preaching on Christmas Eve.  After all, how do you say something new, something profound, something insightful on a day which is so familiar to all of us.  It is like gilding the beautiful lilies with which we observe today. The birth of Jesus… the resurrection of Jesus – both are woven into our own lives.

 

            I have struggled, too, but not to the same extent as a friend in Mississippi did. Confounded by the familiarity of the story or perhaps lacking time during a busy Holy Week, he chose a few words for his Easter sermon: “It’s all true.”

 

            His three-word sermon was not well-received.  People wanted to hear more Good News on this sacred day.

 

            So, I believe I am returning to ancient kerygma – that is, proclamation – in interpreting John’s story of the resurrection today.

 

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            Think of the story of Jesus – of key moments in his life.

 

            Born in a stable – humble origins, for sure.

 

            Reared in the small village of Nazareth in the rural backwater of Galilee.

 

            He labored as a carpenter, likely a stone mason, until he was a young adult.

 

            He certainly was not educated at the finest schools; more likely on the knees of his father and mother. And maybe some religious training. He may or may not have been literate.

 

            He called a small group of fishermen and tradesmen as his disciples.  They were likely an uneducated lot.

 

            He was an itinerant preacher and teacher.  He spoke to and fed thousands of those known as am ha’aretz – the common people of the land.  He told them they were among the blessed.

 

            He clashed with the upper crust… the powerful… the influential.  He sat at table with the most despised of society, such as tax collectors and prostitutes.

 

            And then, as if to finish it all, he died a criminal’s death.

 

            What are we to say about all that?

 

            Now, as if to punctuate the story, we have the ultimate Good News highlighting the overriding theme of the gospel:  In every initial gospel account, the resurrection is discovered by women – the least powerful and influential caste in biblical-era Israel.

 

            And, later, the Apostle Paul, recounts those people to whom the resurrected Jesus appears.  But he does not include the women.

 

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            The overarching story is this: Jesus came to the last and least of the world. He sought again and again to raise those people up… to show that they are the children of God.  Not the wealthy and affluent, not the comfortable and powerful… but the lost sheep of Israel.

 

            For too long we have lost that message. The emPHAsis has been on the wrong syLAbill. We have seen his ministry… his life… his death… his resurrection as something that is uniquely ours.

 

            It IS for us when we are humble and contrite in heart.  But it is for others of this world – those who have been left behind… those who do not bear the blessings of our culture. It is especially for the people on the side of paradise in the Parable of Dives and Lazarus.

 

            So, when you see bejeweled images of Jesus… and fabulous temples to his life… and well-vested ministers (such as myself)… those do not reflect the kingdom of God.  It is, instead, the naked, the hungry, the grieving, the lost, the imprisoned, and the persecuted – the very people to whom Jesus spoke in his Sermon on the Mount.

 

            That is the good news of God’s kingdom.

None without Blemish

 

PROPERS:          5 LENT, YEAR C         

TEXT:                PHILIPPIANS 3:4b - 14                  

PREACHED AT ST. PAUL’S CHAPEL, MAGNOLIA SPRINGS, ON SUNDAY, APRIL 3, 2022.

 

ONE SENTENCE:        Perfection is not the key attribute for Christians; faithfulness and persistence are.

 

            St. Paul is at his annoying best in the lesson today.

 

            It is passages such as this that used to cause me to really dislike Paul and have an aversion to his writings. Like many of you, I suspect, I prefer humility and humbleness to boasting.

 

            But, here he is today, in his Letter to the Church at Philippi: “If anyone else has reason to be confident in the flesh, I have more: circumcised on the eighth day, a member of the people of Israel, of the tribe of Benjamin, a Hebrew born of Hebrews; as to the law, a Pharisee; as to zeal, a persecutor of the church; as to righteousness under the law, blameless.”

 

            Paul is placing his bona fides in the faith out before his audience.  He is establishing his credibility.  But, to me, it doesn’t come off well: You think you’ve got credentials? Well, I’ve got more!

 

            I recognize, I think, what Paul is doing. He is establishing his piety as a straw man, which he will knock down with his subsequent arguments.  And he does that very effectively – writing that all that has gone before… all the reason for his pride… is meaningless.

 

            The point that he gets across is that his piety… his previous unblemished record… his education… hisreligious pedigree mean nothing.  It is faith, based on grace, which gives him credibility.

 

            Too often, though, people have claimed or expected primarily the trait of perfection in iconic figures. As human beings, we are woefully inadequate in meeting that standard. As a result, we get frustrated… and we become disappointed with others.

 

            A question for you:  What do Karl Barth, Paul Tillich, Aimee Semple McPherson, Franklin Delano Roosevelt, Dwight David Eisenhower, Lyndon Baines Johnson, and Martin Luther King, Jr. have in common?

 

            There are actually two answers, both of which are correct.

 

            First, each was well-known and admired widely in the public eye. Barth and Tillich were 20^th century theologians. Aimee Semple McPherson was an idolized Christian evangelist. Roosevelt, Eisenhower, and Johnson were important presidents of the United States.  Martin Luther King, of course, was the leader of the pacifist civil rights movement.

 

            The second characteristic they share is they had feet of clay. Their private lives would be considered scandalous today.  Each violated marriage vows and had extramarital relationships.

 

            Does that fact negate the truths which they brought – the importance of the messages they provided with their lives?

 

            I think not. Each had a profound impact on the world and on the faith at that time. They showed a way to God… a way to peace… or a way to justice that may not have been voiced or realized were it not for them.

 

            Look back on the biblical examples; Noah was a drunk. Moses was a murderer. David was a murderer and philanderer. Peter lied to save his own skin. Paul held the coats of those who stoned Steven.

 

            The point is that God has used imperfect people as his messengers throughout all time – because that is all he has. If a person appears to be perfect, it is a misperception on your part.

 

            To paraphrase a quotation I love to share: The expectation of perfection is the enemy of the good.  We can ignore the truth by dismissing a person for human failings which are all too common.

 

            The truth – pointing us toward a more holy, just life – is what is important.  The challenge for us is to hear, recognize, and embrace that truth over the cacophony of the human experience.

Eagerly Awaiting the Return

PROPERS:          4 LENT, YEAR C         

TEXT:                LUKE 15:1-3, 11b-32             

PREACHED AT ST. PAUL’S CHAPEL, MAGNOLIA SPRINGS, ON SUNDAY, MARCH 27, 2022.

 

ONE SENTENCE:        The graciousness of God is never-ending and relentless; it seeks us out.

 

            Our gospel lesson today is one of Jesus’ most memorable stories – along with the Parable of the Good Samaritan. Today’s gospel, The Parable of the Prodigal Son, is one we have heard since the days of childhood.

 

            From it’s first telling, it has touched the hearts of many.  Rembrandt’s famous depiction is among 13 million images it has prompted over the millennia. A statue of the father embracing his wayward son was chiseled for the 1939 World’s Fair and now stands in the Bishop’s Garden at Washington National Cathedral.

 

            The noted Dutch priest, Henri Nouwen, wrote one of his most moving works in The Return of the Prodigal Son.

 

            The parable itself is a story which truly touches many hearts.  And there are multiple ways in which it resonates with us.  The wayward son who acts as if his father is dead.  The wayward son going to a far land.  The prodigal wasting all his resources. The penitent son returning home hat in hand. The gracious, loving father. The angry brother, resenting his brother’s welcome return, as if his faithfulness all the years had been overlooked.  Those are just a few layers.

 

            The parable is like an onion.  Each layer that we peel off reveals another layer.  The core is always elusive because we are distracted by our own self-description among the layers.

 

            Yet there is one fleeting image which sticks with me.  It stands out.  It tells us so much about God… and invites us to imitate the divine nature.

 

            Let me summarize the story, and then point out the glimpse of grace which I see.

 

            A father has two sons.  The younger one asks the father for his inheritance – even though the father is still alive, and even though the younger son is not the rightful heir.  It is a slap in the father’s face. 

 

The father acquiesces and gives the son half of his belongings.  The young son travels to a far land and wastes all his inheritance. Broke and lost, he finds himself feeding pigs – an awful task for a faithful Jew.  At wit’s end and wallowing in pig slop, he decides to go home and throw himself at his father’s mercy.

 

            Likely you know the rest. But there is one brief passage which stands out to me.  It is simple, poignant, and powerful: “But while he was still far off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion; he ran and put his arms around him and kissed him.”

 

            The father not only greets the son; he was yearning for his return.  He was looking longingly out the window, hoping for his lost son’s return. The love for which the wayward son hungered was always there.  The forgiveness is prevenient if you will.  The father yearns to forgive and be reconciled as much as the wandering son.

 

            It is terribly difficult, maybe even impossible, for us to imagine the depths of divine grace.  We have no human analogue.  We think we understand it, but from the first days of the church’s history, we have been placing restrictions on that mercy.  It is there in the Book of Acts, and it is there in church history.  We are humanly unable to accept or offer such divine generosity.

 

            There are situations at which we find ourselves at the end of a rope, exhausted by having forgiven, forgiven, and forgiven.  You know those situations.  Someone has taken advantage of you or your good heart.

 

Maybe even it is yourself or another person.  We cannot go on – we give up on ourselves or another person.  You say enough is enough. 

 

I have done that myself.  Sometimes we do that to preserve our sanity.

 

            But we should always be mindful, that is not the way of God.  It is a fact of our human nature – one of brokenness and sin.  And it is always a tragedy – a failure or inability to meet the magnanimity of God. Maybe it is the best of unappealing options, but it reflects an absence of hope, and denial of the fullness of God’s mercy.

 

            The divine nature is without any qualification – it is exceedingly generous.  It goes beyond our ability to comprehend. As you face those human limits and strain against them, hold on to the image of God standing at the window, hoping for reconciliation and reunion. 

I AM Calls to the Moses of Today

PROPERS:          3 LENT, YEAR C         

TEXT:                EXODUS 3:1-15           

PREACHED AT ST. PAUL’S CHAPEL, MAGNOLIA SPRINGS, ON SUNDAY, MARCH 20, 2022.

 

ONE SENTENCE:        The Great I Am still hears the cries of the unfortunate.     

 

            The Old Testament lesson today – from Exodus – is one of the seminal stories of the Hebrew Scriptures.

 

            The central figure of the Old Testament, the foundation on which the Jewish faith is built, is Moses.  His ancestors had been brought to Egypt by Joseph. He was born to a slave woman, to a people oppressed by the Egyptian overlords. As a newborn, he was rescued out of the bullrushes of the Nile by Pharoah’s family. He was a fortunate child indeed.  His mother was chosen to suckle him.

 

            Moses grew up in Pharoah’s household and became a prince of Egypt.  But coming to realize his heritage and witnessing an Egyptian beating a Hebrew slave, he lashed out and killed the Egyptian. Fearing that he would be found out, he fled to the Wilderness of Sinai.

 

            There he married Zipporah, a daughter of the priest of Midian – likely representing some sort of primitive religion worshipping a desert God. Moses settled in the desert, raising a family, and tending to his father-in-law’s herds at the foot of Mount Sinai.

 

            Mount Sinai was a mystical mountain.  We are unsure to this day exactly peak it was.  Tradition has pointed toward one in particular – an ominous, craggy, extinct volcano in the Sinai desert.

 

            In the passage today, Moses is tending the flock of his father-in-law, Jethro, at the base of the mountain.  But something draws his attention.  He sees a bush afire, but the bush is not consumed.  So, he goes closer to investigate this mystical sight.

 

            A voice calls to him out of the flame and says that he – Moses – has been chosen to lead the Hebrews out of bondage in Egypt.  The voice says that it – God – has heard the cries of the chosen people, and Moses would be sent to free them.

 

            It is then, at that point, that the story reaches its apex. “Whom shall I say sent me?” Moses asks.  The voice replies to Moses’ query: “I AM WHO I AM. Tell them I AM sent you.”

 

            The precise translation of that verse has been the subject of much-debate.  The Hebrew letters comprise what is known as the Divine Tetragrammaton.  To this day, observant Jews will not say it.  Christians generally translate it Jehovah or Yahweh.  I prefer Yahweh.

 

            “I AM WHO I AM.”  What does that mean?  Another translation is, “I will be who I will be.” In other words, the divine being, the desert God, the spirit that we worship as the Lord of earth, sea, and sky, will not be put in a box. The Great I AM will be and do whatever pleases the divine nature.  See the Book of Job for clarification – or lack of clarification.

 

            However, there is one thing that is abundantly clear in this passage: God hears the cries of the oppressed. And God seeks to send those who would relieve the suffering of the people.

 

            That seems especially applicable today as we look across the globe at Ukraine, and the suffering of women, men, and children who are caught among bombs, explosions, and gunfire.  God would send relief.  We are the Moses of today.  We can and should respond.

 

            Yet, we need not look half a world away to find suffering.  Grief, hunger, poverty, homelessness, nakedness, thirst are outside our door.

 

            I am immensely proud of how this congregation responds to needs in our community.  As people of faith, we seek to meet people’s basic needs.  But God – the Great I AM – continues to hear the cries of people who are lost, hungry, or oppressed.

 

            And that is the same theme we hear in the Gospel – to meet those needs where we can. To visit those in prison, as Deacon Susan will soon be doing with Kairos Outside. To care for the elderly, lonely, and infirmed. We are to cross invisible boundaries which separate us from others, and to set free from chains those who are bound by a history of not being seen – here in Baldwin County and in the hills and hollows of Appalachia. 

 

            Here and across the world, God is calling to the Moses of today. 

Finding Our Way in the Wilderness

PROPERS:          1 LENT, YEAR C         

TEXT:                LUKE 4:1-14       

PREACHED AT ST. PAUL’S CHAPEL, MAGNOLIA SPRINGS, ON SUNDAY, MARCH 6, 2022.

 

ONE SENTENCE:        The Wilderness of Lent poses at least two options as to how we encounter it.

 

 

            The Wilderness can be a place of communion or a place of danger. Consider two examples.

 

            Bishop James Pike was the fifth bishop of the Diocese of California.  He was a scholarly, iconoclastic, and profoundly controversial man.  He had experience in military intelligence during World War II.  He was a lawyer, and later became dean of Cathedral of St. John the Divine in New York City.

 

            As such, he displaced Cardinal Fulton Sheen as a popular television host.  He gained nationwide notoriety before being elected Bishop of California in 1958.

 

            He was an author of both orthodox and incredibly controversial books – though some of his controversial theological views have become normative.  The Episcopal House of Bishops considered him a problem, and cadre of bishops sought his conviction on heresy charges.  The church leadership recognized the costs of calling-out one of its own, and sought a simpler course: He was censured.

 

            Bishop Pike resigned as bishop in 1966 as his personal and professional behavior became more problematic.  He entered into a fourth marriage. He began practices of the paranormal. He went deeper into alcoholism.  His son, with whom had written books, committed suicide.

 

            Pike went deeper and deeper into a quest for peace and certainty.  He and his fourth wife went to Israel to write a book about the historical Jesus.  Their research led them into the Wilderness – to the arid, parched land of the Dead Sea, near Qumran, where the Dead Sea Scrolls had been discovered.

 

            Their car broke down and in their search for help, they became separated.  His wife found an army camp and got help. Five days later they found Bishop Pike’s body. In his delusional, dehydrated state, he had fallen from a cliff.

 

            James Pike never found what he sought. He was buried in Jaffa, Israel.

 

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            The second example:  Jesus has just been baptized by John in the River Jordan.  That small river meanders through an inhospitable environment.

 

            Scripture tells us that Jesus was driven deep into the Wilderness by the Spirit.  We may have an image of the Wilderness that is perhaps like deeply wooded areas of Baldwin County.  It is not like that, at all.  It is more like the most harsh and rugged parts of New Mexico.  Dry. Hot. Deserted. Pocked by rocky cliffs. Nearly void of all life, save the rock badgers, birds of prey, and mountain goats.

 

            It was an experience analogous to sharpening a knife.  Jesus was driven there to sharpen his mind – to get a clear image of his mission.  And there, in that alien landscape, he encountered what he would face.

 

            He was tempted with sustenance to sustain his life.  He was promised power.  He was encouraged to tempt God.  But he resisted.  All offers by the Tempter.

 

            It was, in a sense, boot camp for Jesus.  He built spiritual fortitude.  A clearer self-image.  And awareness of who he is… and whose he is.  He had some form of direction.  And though it was probably not at the forefront at that time – three-and-a-half years before – he had set his mind on Jerusalem.

 

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            This past Wednesday, we entered the metaphorical wilderness of Lent.  It will last for 40 days and nights, plus Sundays.

 

            James Pike found that the Wilderness was dangerous, alien, not friendly.  He entered it expecting it to be more hospitable than it was.

 

            Jesus entered it, we assume, knowing the challenges he would face.  He was prepared.  He faced the temptations, and he prevailed.

 

            To enter the Wilderness is our call.  Will you wander aimlessly in the next six weeks, ignoring the waters of life that are there in this season… meandering through life, seeking nothing, and finding it?

 

            Or will you be more like Jesus in the Wilderness? Taking these days as a time to find your ultimate concern, your ground of being, the bread which gives direction, purpose, and meaning.

 

            Which will it be? 

Turning Inward

PROPERS:          ASH WEDNESDAY, YEAR C        

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

PREACHED AT ST. PAUL’S CHAPEL, MAGNOLIA SPRINGS, ON ASH WEDNESDAY, MARCH 3, 2022.

 

ONE SENTENCE:        The season of Lent is an ancient opportunity to turn inward and examine one’s life.

 

            Today, as always when we gather, we are celebrating an ancient rite.

            However, today we are observing a practice that is in addition to the Pascal Feast.  The Eucharist, of course, is traced back to the first Passover in Egypt.  Today’s observance is tied closely to the practices of the early church. 

 

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            Membership in the early church was not casual.  Keep in mind that before 312 A.D., the church was considered a subversive and sometimes was a prohibited organization. Small cells of the church would gather in secret to practice the sacred rites which had been passed down.

 

            Membership was dangerous.

 

            Later, after being officially recognized by the Roman government, membership became more commonplace. But there were still exacting standards.

 

            Reading church history will tell you that there was a diversity of practices.  But there is a significant thread which runs through the history and practice of Lent.

 

            Of course, Lent is the symbolization of Jesus’ 40 days and nights in the Wilderness following his baptism. Scripture tells us he was driven there by the Spirit.  I will have more to say on that subject this Sunday.

 

            Jesus’ time in the Wilderness was his time of deep introspection, searching spirituality, and coming to terms with the mission before him.

 

            Lent became a time for people to turn – or return – more fully to God.  Through prayer.  Through study.  Through discipline.  Through self-denial.  It was a time set-aside for people wishing to enter the fellowship of the church, or to return to the fellowship of the church.

 

            Neither was simple.

 

            There was a group known as the Catechumens – the individuals who were studying to become full members of the church.  These were people awaiting baptism.  Their period of study might be as long as three years, but there was intense focus on that study during the church’s season of Lent.

 

            There was another group.  These were the people who had been disciplined – those who had failed to live up to the church’s standards.  Maybe they had been excommunicated.  But they were prohibited from coming to communion.  They sat apart from the people who were faithful, baptized members of the body.

 

            There were two sections of the service.  We know them as the Liturgy of the Word and the Holy Communion.  The ancient division was the Liturgy of the Catechumens and the Liturgy of the Faithful.

 

            The first half of the service went through the general confession.  It included the scriptural readings, the homily, the creed, the prayers, and the confession.

 

            It was at that point that the catechumens and the penitents would be escorted out.  They went away to study the doctrine, teaching, and the practice of Christianity.  They were being prepared.

 

            For those who were already baptized and part of the faithful would continue in the service.  They would participate in the Holy Communion and receive the bread and wine – the sacramental body and blood of Jesus.

 

            The catechumens were being prepared for what would come 40 days later – the Easter Vigil. Before dawn on Easter Day, they would be baptized and become full members of the church.

 

            The penitents – those who had turned away from the church in some significant way – would be welcomed back into the fellowship at the Easter Vigil.

 

            It was a time of great celebration. 

 

            All this, of course, was in the ancient church – before the Body became hopelessly fractured by many schisms.

 

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            Our Lent is much simpler now. In many ways, it has become more individualized and optional.  But the purpose is the same.

 

            We are invited – in words that you will hear in a few moments – to turn inward…  examine ourselves… to reflect on the state of our souls… to seek to renew our relationships to God.

 

            The season of Lent is not so much about denial.  It means little to sacrifice chocolate, caffeine, or alcohol. It is about your relationship to God. And, if properly observed, you will have ample reason to celebrate on Easter Day.