Sunday, April 21, 2024

Easter 4

Acts 4:5-12; Psalm 23; 1 John 3:16-24; John 10:11-18

The Rev. Clint Brown

If there’s one thing we can know for sure about a sheep, it’s that it can and will get lost. In all the famous parables that Jesus tells about sheep, this idea goes uncontested. It’s just a given. The notion that one sheep will wander off from ninety-nine others does not strike us in the least as absurd or unreasonable. (We might, in fact, wonder that it’s only one sheep and not more!). Of course, what we are meant to understand is that we are the sheep, and so it is worth bearing in mind all the many different ways in which we can wander off and be lost. Certainly, there is the theological sense – of wandering off the true path and losing our way; sin can make us do that. But there are other ways. You can feel lost in company or feel left out or out of place on your first day of school. You can feel lost in a crowd or lost in busyness. You can even get lost in your thoughts. My favorite is getting lost in wonder. But not all “lostness” is created equal. Some “lostness” is of a more tragic type. The reality of being lost in an addiction or compulsion, for instance, is especially tragic…when, for a length of time, you have lost your very self: your identity – your confidence – your certainty. Perhaps, and this is the most tragic of all, there may be someone sitting here today who has lost their hope or, worse, their faith. So I want all of you to hear very clearly what I am about to say next. The good news about lostness is this: that to be found, you must first be lost. To be found you must first be lost.

Friends, I can say with absolute confidence that none of us sitting here today are in a position to say that we have got all of life figured out. No matter how full of confidence you may be about your present circumstances – or lack thereof – we are all, in a very real sense, still “lost.” “For now we see only a reflection, as in a mirror, but then we will see face to face. Now I know only in part; then I will know fully, even as I have been fully known” (1 Corinthians 13:23). Being in possession of only some of the facts (and, of those, we are only partially able to put them all together) – this is our true condition. So here’s to figuring it out. Here’s to cultivating a posture of humility toward all that we think we know. Here’s to being lost; to being on the way; to clearing a path through the underbrush; to stepping in mudholes; to taking the road less traveled; to questing, seeking, asking, doubting, messing up, wandering off, feeling completely out of our depth, taking a risk, and doing it over and over again.

I tell you, the supreme irony of any of Jesus’ parables is the identity of the truly lost. At first, one thinks it’s the sheep, but it turns out that the truly lost are the Pharisees and scribes. They are the ones who do not see the point, who are actually blind to the truth. Which one of you, Jesus asks – meaning the Pharisees and scribes – which one of you would take the risk to leave the safety of the sheepfold and venture out to rescue the one lost sheep and exchange the known for the unknown? Which one of you, Pharisees and scribes, would have the vision to see that the point of living is not absolute certainty and security but, rather, absolute confidence in God? In this telling, the heroic character in the story is not the ninety-nine righteous who dared nothing, did nothing, risked nothing, but, rather, that lone, intrepid sheep. The one who endured the outrage of the naysayers. The one that asked the hard, penetrating questions. The one that messed up – bad – maybe ten times, maybe a hundred times, who knows? but who, in the end, came to his senses. The sheep who risked their faith in their search for truth.

I recall a conversation I once had with a person I was meeting for the first time, and in the process of introducing myself I mentioned that I was an Episcopalian. “Oh,” this person said, “y’all are the ones who let everybody in”…and I thought, Why yes! Exactly! That’s exactly what we do. And that’s exactly what I think this whole enterprise of church and faith and Christianity is all about. I think Jesus is calling us all – all the wanderers, and especially the doubters – anyone who seeks him authentically. He lets everybody in, and I hope we Episcopalians can always wear such a badge proudly and be best known for doing the same.

Jesus is the Good Shepherd – that is our theme today – and the Good Shepherd is for all of us – lost and found and everything in between. The Good Shepherd lays down his life for you. The Good Shepherd loves you. The Good Shepherd respects you enough to wait for your responding love in return. Because we are all prodigal sons. The prodigal lives in each of us. We are all wandering sheep, but this is not our fault, it’s just our nature. And the good news is that that’s okay, because we cannot be found, unless, first, we’re lost.

If you’re here today, it’s because you’re a seeker. I, too, am a seeker. But this lostness that compels our seeking is not, finally, the point. A state of lostness is not meant to be where we stay. It is not our destiny; it is merely our means. The extraordinarily good news for us both today is that the God that we seek has already come near. He can be found. Jesus Christ is his name, and he is seeking after you. Which means that the only way you can be lost is if you want to be. Amen.

Sunday, April 14, 2024

3 Easter

Acts 3: 12-19; Psalm 4;1 John 3: 1-7; Luke 24: 36b-48

The Rev. James M.L. Grace

In the Name of God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  AMEN.

It is not often that I preach on a psalm, however today I am.  In looking at today’s psalm – psalm 4, it appears that the author of the psalm was clearly tempted by at least two things which can easily tempt us today.  It is these upon these two temptations expressed in the psalm that I would like to build today’s sermon.  

The first temptation the author of the psalm confronts is one found in verse 2, where the author says, “You mortals, how long will you dishonor my glory.”  What is the author saying?  He or she is expressing concern about their reputation – what other people think and say about them.  Maybe the author is reacting to some personal attack or confrontation.  

Regardless, the psalm is clearly a lament – it is the author’s cry out to God for justice when people speak ill of either him or her.  So, a moment of personal disclosure.  I am a people pleaser. In some ways that is a positive attribute.  Many clergy, it seems are people pleasers.  Clergy want to be liked or arguably they need to be liked, because our system is set up in such a way that if we are not liked by you all, there is a financial impact when stewardship season rolls around, as it will in six months.

Before attending seminary, I went to a gathering for people interested in the priesthood.  I felt like I was the youngest person in the room and was so intimidated.  My feelings were not helped much when the facilitator said, and I quote, “if you are praying about becoming a priest, you better have a thick skin, because people will attack you from all directions.”

Maybe not the best way to sell priesthood as a vocation?  As a people pleaser, I wasn’t sure how to respond to what she said.  So I just went to seminary.  After I was ordained, and placed as a curate in my first parish, the Rector said to me other words that I also remember: “Jimmy, if everybody likes you, you’re not doing your job well.”  In the almost twenty years of ordained life, my skin has gotten really thick. 

I have no concept of what my reputation is here, but I will tell you how I choose to manage it.  I do it this way - if I am going to say something about a person who is not in the room, I make sure I speak as if the person were in the room standing next to me.  That goes for everyone in my life – family, friends, parishioners, etc.  In keeping this as a daily practice, I do not dishonor the glory of any person, and I don’t have to be concerned about my reputation.

The second temptation the author of the psalm expresses is found in verses 6-7, where the author writes: “Many are saying, ‘Oh that we might see better times!’  Lift up the light of your countenance upon us, O Lord.” The author is describing a temptation and concern over material possessions, particularly a fixation upon others seeming to have more than we do. 

I am most prone to this temptation when I compare my insides with someone’s outsides.  For me it can happen in a half of a second, and here’s how it works.  I am walking down the sidewalk, completely content, and feeling joyful.  A convertible drives by and in it are a husband and wife, and two smiling children in the backseat.  In less than a second my brain makes up a story about that smiling family in the convertible.  They have more money than I do, they are happier than I am, their kids are going to better schools, they work a less stressful job than I do, and they are just better people all around.  In less than a second, I move from joy and contentment to despair. 

Now – a caveat – if I am spiritually fit and in right relationship with God, the convertible with the family in it drives by, I notice it, think nothing of it, and thank God for a beautiful day.  It is only when I am pursuing a deliberate manufacture of misery or choosing to swim in self-pity that I fall into this temptation to compare what I have with what someone else has.  “Comparison is the thief of joy,” Theodore Roosevelt once wisely noted. 

Psalm 4 is about much more than temptation over reputation or what people own. Ultimately, the psalm argues the answer to both of these temptations is simply to trust God, always.  Today’s psalm presents a powerful teaching, which is that only in God alone do we find ultimate security and peace.  When we place ourselves within God’s peace, we lose interest in comparison and our reputation.  God removes these temptations, if we trust God to handle that work for us.  

So, if you are concerned about reputation or what you do or do not own, you may be spiritually unfit, and not in right relationship with God.  I promise you that no amount of reputational posturing or acquiring will get you into God’s peace.  To enter God’s peace, you have to grow up, and let go of childhood temptations, which do nothing but arrest your spiritual development.  Growing into God’s peace not only liberates us from temptation, it frees us to live as vibrant and spiritually awakened people.  The kind of  people God desires us to be.  AMEN.

Sunday, April 8, 2024

Easter 2

Acts 4:32-35; Psalm 133; 1 John 20: 19-31; John 20: 19-31

The Rev. James M. L. Grace

In the Name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.  AMEN.

                Do you ever have one of those days where you wake up, and you know before your feet even hit the floor, that you just do not have much energy for the day ahead?  Is that a familiar feeling?  The feeling that once you get out of bed, you cannot wait until the day ends and you can place your head back on the pillow again to go to sleep?  Some days are like that for us.  That is true for the church as well. 

In some churches, the Sunday after Easter is kind of like one of those days.  It typically has less energy, and often fewer people, than Easter Sunday.  It is on a Sunday like today where parishioners might approach me and say “wasn’t Easter Sunday great?”  I interpret that statement as a polite way of saying “today is kind of a downer, the sermon isn’t as good as the one on Easter was, the energy in the room doesn’t quite feel the same.”  When the mundane of the present fails to match the grandeur of the past, often we tend to look backwards in time.  We look back to find a moment when things were really good.  Like Easter Sunday last week. 

We do this in our families, reminiscing about times when things seemed lighter, easier, maybe even more joyful.  We do this as a nation, looking back to decades past, often romanticizing what was great about those decades while minimizing their challenges. 

Since looking back to the golden age of anything seems to be wired into the human condition, perhaps it should not surprise us to see evidence of this phenomenon in scripture, which we do in today’s reading from Acts.  I would like to reread just a portion of it, in which the author describes the beginning of the Christian movement as “one heart and soul, and no one claimed private ownership of any possessions, but everything they owned was held in common. . . . [t]here was not a needy person among them, for as many as owned lands or houses sold them and brought the proceeds of what was sold. They laid it at the apostles' feet, and it was distributed to each as any had need.”  Sounds rather good, doesn’t it?

In the Rector’s Book Club today we are talking about the book of Acts, and one of the things I will say is that Acts was written sometime between 90-100 CE, approximately sixty to seventy years after the bodily the resurrection of Jesus Christ and the beginning of what became the Christian movement.  That means the author is looking backward some sixty to seventy years in writing these passages of the early church.  How well do you recall events from sixty years ago? 

Thankfully, we have the epistles in the New Testament, many of which were written much earlier than Acts.  A careful study of each epistle reveals more of the story.  Even a cursory reading of some of the Apostle Paul’s letters reveal that even in its earliest years, the church was often distracted and fledgling.  In contrast to the reading from Acts today, early church communities disagreed over theology, which leaders they should follow, and whether or not they were willing to send the Apostle Paul money again to fund his travels.

Please understand as I share all this with you, my purpose is not at all to discredit, or diminish the book of Acts.  And in full candor , if you just look to the next chapter in Acts (chapter 5) we see things fall apart very quickly when two members of this early movement hold on to some of the proceeds from a piece of property they sold, not laying all of their proceeds at the apostle’s feet, but rather putting a portion of into their own wallet.  I will not tell you the rest of that story, but it is safe to say this gilded period of church history did not last long. 

It is obvious that the early Jesus movement struggled and had growing pains.  But that struggle is not the point of this sermon.  The point of this sermon is that what is described in Acts for us today is not so much a description of the church’s past, but of its future.  I choose to believe that the paragraphs we read from Acts today contain within them as fine a description of heaven as I have ever seen. 

That is why looking back wistfully, often to a past we remember, but never really existed, is a waste of time.  Because in turning to look back, we miss seeing the heaven that is right in front of us.  AMEN.

Maundy Thursday, March 28, 2024

Maundy Thursday (Year B)

Ex. 12:1-14; Psalm 116:1, 10-17; 1 Corinthians 11:23-26; John 13:1-17, 31b-35

The Rev. Clint Brown

Pilgrims in their tens of thousands. Pilate, the Roman procurator and Herod Antipas, the tetrarch. Temple priests. Temple guards. Roman soldiers drawn from every quarter of the Empire. Zealots and radicals. Mercenary money changers. Sadducees, Pharisees, “doctors of the law.” Twelve disciples. A faithful band of women. Jesus. There is only one thing that could have brought together such a motley and disparate group to be at the same place at the same time, and that one thing can be summed up in one word: Passover.

Passover, the annual commemoration of God’s deliverance of Israel, had, by Jesus’ day, long since transitioned from a simple house ceremony to a full-fledged festival. Everyone who could was expected to make the journey to Jerusalem and offer their Passover sacrifice in the temple (Deut. 16),[1] and Luke’s Gospel reports that Jesus’s parents did so faithfully every year (Lk. 2:41). Modern estimates put the population of Jerusalem at around this time, conservatively, at something like 25 to 30,000 people, but during the week preceding Passover, that number swelled at least sixfold to 155,000.[2] For a few weeks every spring, the ancient City of David became a raucous, cacophonous mix of multiple languages and dialects, cramped and dusty lanes filled with jostling, irritable strangers, out-of-towners haggling over accommodation, street vendors hawking food, bleating animals meant for sacrifice, curious tourists, men of business unlucky enough to be caught in town, and, of course, the simply pious, shoulder to shoulder with the pickpockets and bandits, zealots and firebrands, and all the other opportunists that these kinds of occasions bring out of the woodwork.

Mixed in and among these teeming throngs were also the elite and privileged classes. One such party was called the Sadducees, and we might think of them as the aristocrats. They had old and distinguished lineages and owned much property. They occupied the majority of the seats on the supreme council, the Sanhedrin, which was presided over by the High Priest, also a Sadducee. The Sadducees, as a collective, were Roman collaborators who had a vested interest in appeasing their overlords even as they secretly despised them. Secondly, there was the party of the Pharisees, whose name is thought to mean something like “the separated.”[3] These were the true believers calling the people back to true religion, who took the view that only a strict return to the Law could save them all. Jesus had many disputes with this group owing to the fact that while they zealously observed of the letter of the Law, they seemed to have forgotten its spirit. Last of all, there were the hereditary priests, the guardians of the temple, who had at their disposal a small contingent of armed guards and who had oversight over the proper conduct of ritual. It was these men who were tasked with the gruesome and ever more formidable task of slaughtering the thousands upon thousands of animals brought to them for sacrifice and then splashing their blood against the sides of the altar. When you think of them, think of blood and sweat and slaughter by the dim, flickering light of torches.

But, as you know, Jerusalem at this time was not only a Jewish city with Jewish preoccupations, it was also a subjugated city, and Palestine was not the home of a proud, autonomous people but a provincial outpost of the Roman Empire, which had, by this time, made a Roman lake out of the Mediterranean. A few days in advance of the Festival, the Roman governor, Pontius Pilate, had left his comfortable seaside villa in the city of Caesarea Maritima, the provincial capital, and begrudgingly marched his cohort of soldiers westward to deal with the cranks in Jerusalem. Experience had shown that it was not wise of the Empire to leave unpoliced this annual remembrance of Israel’s past liberation and deliverance, and Rome certainly had no intention of being another Egypt. And so, on the Sunday before Passover, Pilate and his column solemnly processed into the city to the steady and disciplined thump-thump of their drums and with the practiced professionalism of military men. If anyone had thoughts of causing a disturbance this week, by this raw display of power, they were meant to think twice. Without hurry, but also with some relief, the entourage made it to the safety of the Antonia Fortress overlooking the temple and the city. Here Pilate and his soldiers could keep a watchful and wary eye over the city and all that was to come.

But while all these groups and individuals are important players in the drama to come, none of them, we know, will have the starring role this week – that part is reserved for a certain man from Galilee – and it is one of the great ironies of history that at the same time as Pilate and his troops were making their grand but subdued entrance into the city from the west, a quite different procession was approaching the city from the east. At the head of this procession was an altogether different kind of figurehead, the popular and visionary leader of a reform movement within Judaism named Jesus of Nazareth. Jesus, the Gospels tell us, had set his face to come to Jerusalem several days before and now he had arrived to the boisterous acclaim of the crowds who hailed him as their king. But for Jesus, however, there was, as it were, a pall overshadowing all this celebration. Jesus knew that not everything was what it seemed. He knew that by entering the city that day he was entering it for the last time. He knew that he was going to die.

On Thursday night, Jesus gathered his disciples together to share the Passover meal. He washed their feet. He declared to them a new commandment, that they “Love one another.” He blessed and broke the bread and shared with them the cup and solemnly enjoined them (and us) to do this, as often as we come together, in remembrance of him. Which brings me to my main point. You and I are the final participants in this drama. The stage has been set, all the characters are in position, and it is now our turn to take our place. Tonight we commemorate the fact that every Eucharist is a pledge by which we commit ourselves to the cruciform life of a disciple of Christ. We remember that our highest aspiration is not to have great vacations, bulging bank accounts, or even, necessarily, lives of comfort and ease; it is, rather, to be as broken, as poured out, as Jesus Christ. Christ has arrived in Jerusalem to confront us all – pilgrims, procurators, powerbrokers, and us – and he means to transform us all. This Passover is where everything comes together. Take the bread. Take the cup. “Behold the mystery of your salvation laid out for you; behold what you are, become what you receive.”[4] Amen.

[1] By this time, it had become a requirement of anyone living within 15 miles of Jerusalem.

[2] Figures are taken from Joachim Jeremias, Jerusalem in the Time of Jesus (London: SCM Press, 1966), 84.

[3] C. H. Dodd, The Founder of Christianity (London: William Collins Sons & Co. Ltd., 1970), 8.

[4] A line from St. Augustine, Sermon 272, “On the Eucharist,” used today in this paraphrased and amplified form in some modern liturgies.

Sunday, March 17, 2024

5 Lent  

Jeremiah 31:31-34; Psalm 51:1-13; Hebrews 5: 5-10; John 12: 20-33

The Rev. James M.L. Grace

In the Name of God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  Amen.

 In our Bible studies earlier this week, one of the questions asked to the group was
“what qualities make a good priest?”  In the women’s study, they identified humility as an important quality.  The men’s Bible Study group were unanimous in voicing that the most important quality of a priest was the ability to deliver a short sermon.  So, this sermon is going to be really humble, and really short.

The subject of this humble and short sermon is the portion of Jeremiah which we hear today. 

Jeremiah was a Hebrew prophet. He was a descendent of Abiathar, one of two chief priests appointed by David, arguably Israel’s most well-known king.  Abiathar was a Levitical priest, a priesthood which traced its roots to the tribe of Levi. He counseled David during his son Absalom’s tragic rebellion against him, and was a close confidant of the king.  But not close enough.  In addition to Abiathar, David chose a second high priest, Zadok.  David had known Zadok for a long time.  Zadok helped to bring the ark of the covenant back to Jerusalem from nearby Gibeah after it languished in neglect for years under the reign of King Saul.   By having two high priests from two different priestly families, David hoped to create a sense of unity and stability.

However, the emergence of the Zadokite priesthood, which traced its history to Zadok, created political as well as theological tension with the Levitical priests.  Abiathar, the Levitical priest, was banished from Jerusalem by King David’s son, Solomon, because Abiathar wanted someone other than Solomon to be king.  Solomon did not like that.  With Abiathar banished, the Zadokite priestly lineage gained prominence, and Zadok’s descendants served as high priests in the Temple. 

Jeremiah was a descendant of Abiathar, this banished Levitical priest, which means that much of what Jeremiah writes is strongly critical of kingship of Solomon, the Jewish temple, and its Zadokite priesthood.

Jeremiah’s opinions, contained within this book, were extremely unpopular.  The book of Jeremiah was written when what was left of Israel was captured by Babylon.  Both Jerusalem and the Temple were destroyed.  Jeremiah witnessed this destruction with his own eyes.

The most unpalatable of Jeremiah’s writing was his unwavering stance regarding Israel’s future.  More specifically, Jeremiah argued that the Israelites who remained after the destruction of Jerusalem must acquiesce and surrender to their Babylonian captors as the only way of avoiding their complete annihilation as a country and as a people.  No one in Israel wanted to hear that, and Jeremiah was persecuted by his own people for saying this.  His own family turned against him.  He endured beatings, imprisonment, and ridicule. Despite these hardships, Jeremiah remained faithful.  In an ironic twist, it was the Babylonians who freed him from prison. 

I have a hard truth I need to speak today – something none of you want to hear, but I do not have a choice, I have to say this: this is not going to be a short sermon.  But I am working toward its conclusion, I promise. 

Jeremiah believed that the destruction of Jerusalem and the temple were absolutely necessary so that God could begin a new thing.

That “new thing” is what we hear about in today’s reading.  “The days are surely coming, says the Lord, when I will make a new covenant with the house of Israel and the house of Judah…I will put my law within them, and I will write it on their hearts; and I will be their God, and they shall be my people.”  This is a rare thing to find in Jeremiah – hope.  But it is there.  Ultimately, Jeremiah finds hope amid devastating religious partisanship and geopolitical conflict. 

Partisanship and conflict exist today as they obviously did during the time of Jeremiah.  It is during such divisive times that Jeremiah becomes my curmudgeonly unpopular anchor I cling to.  I return to Jeremiah because of his courage.  He spoke the truth boldly and paid the price for it.  His life would have been much easier, and probably more pleasant, had he kept his mouth shut.  But he could not – he was God’s prophet.   

It has been said that “the truth will set you free, but first it’s going to make you miserable.”  That is probably true. It certainly was for Jeremiah.  Though the truth hurts, it is what we hunger for.  The truth is what we need.  It is what God is calling us ever closer to.  AMEN.  

Sunday, March 10, 2024

Lent 4

Number 21:4-9; Psalm 107:1-3, 17-22; Ephesians 2:1-10; John 3:14-21

The Rev. Clint Brown

This morning, I should like to take you on a journey, a journey through time. Our first stop is around the year 700 BCE during the reign of King Hezekiah of Judah. If you are acquainted with the book of Kings, you will know that the narrative is frequently punctuated by the mention of this or that king beginning to reign in such and such a year and always accompanied by a brief editorial comment: “this king did what was right in the sight of the Lord,” or, more often, “this king did not do what was right in the sight of the Lord.” It was the chronicler’s way of linking character with destiny. Impiety led inexorably to misfortune and this will eventually serve as the explanation for the destruction of Jerusalem and the carrying away of the people into exile just a few generations later. At this point, however, that is still a long way off, and Hezekiah was one of those few kings, in the long list of kings, who did what was right in the sight of the Lord. In fact, his reign became legendary for its reforms. We learn in the book of 2 Kings that one of them involved a rather curious object that had – along with the ark of the covenant and the tablets of the Law – survived in the Temple as a relic of Israel’s past. It was a large bronze snake affixed to the end of a pole, and, through the years, we learn, it had become the center of a cult. Understandably, for the pious Hezekiah, this was intolerable. There should be – could be – no rival to Yahweh for the hearts and minds of the people, and certainly not one in the form of such blatant, blasphemous idolatry. And so, the Bible says, Hezekiah broke it in pieces (2 Kings 18:4), and for this and the many other proofs of his righteousness, the text goes on to say that God made him victorious, both in resisting the mounting threat of the Assyrians on his northern borders and against Israel’s traditional adversaries nearer to home, the Philistines.

But to return to the snake and to appreciate its full significance, we must climb into our time machine and move further upstream to the Wilderness wanderings of the Israelites, our second stop. Having received the Ten Commandments, the people of Israel depart from the mountain of God and embark on what, map wise, should have been a relatively short trip to the Promised Land. But apparently not short, easy, or simple enough, because they complain about everything. The water which God makes to gush miraculously for them from a rock? Nice, but it could be colder. The manna from heaven? Okay, I guess, but does it have to be for every meal? At one point, they even have to audacity to claim that they have no food and water, apparently forgetting the basic principle of logic that you can only find unsatisfying something you actually possess! And as the people’s resolve breaks down, for the first time they speak out not only against Moses, but now also against God. “Why have you brought us up out of Egypt to die in the wilderness?” (verse 5), but the “you” is plural. And, well, God is having none of it. God sends poisonous snakes to torment them and punish their ingratitude. Vast numbers grow sick; some even die. But one thing is for sure, God now has their attention, and, seeing their error, they repent and appeal to Moses to make everything better. And so, consulting God as to what to do, God instructs Moses to make a bronze snake, the very one we have just met with surviving down to the days of Hezekiah, and Moses was told to set it on a pole, and all who looked on it would be healed. The people’s salvation would lie in being forced to look upon their sin and accepting its consequences.

Fast forward a thousand years and we come to the last stop on our journey, to a grove of olive trees outside the walls of Jerusalem in about the year 30. It is night, and Nicodemus, a member of the Jewish council and an influential leader of the party of the Pharisees, has come to Jesus, secretly, to interview him about who he is and what he’s about. Now I have always been rather sympathetic to the figure of Nicodemus. I actually do not hold against him that he is not yet ready to publicly declare for Jesus – that will come. What I admire about him is his sincerity, his curiosity, and the fact that, though starting out muddled and confused, he doesn’t let things stand that way but he leaves open the possibility of finally understanding. So I am right there with Nicodemus as he finds himself growing not less, but more confused by Jesus’ cryptic answers that don’t really help to clear things up at all. Second births? Wind and water and spirit? What does it all mean? And all of it quite unsettles Nicodemus and he bursts out in exasperation, “How can these things be?” (John 3:9) And so Jesus makes a quick mental tour of the Torah for some allusion, some image that might help to pull together all these threads and forge with this fellow student of the scriptures a meeting of minds. And the image he settles on is the one with which we, by now, are very familiar with thanks to our tour through time. Who Jesus is and what he’s about is this: “As Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in him may have eternal life” (John 3:14). The cure for what ails us, says Jesus, will be to look up, as the Israelites had done long ago, and see him, crucified, dying upon a cross. He is the cure. He is salvation lifted up on a pole. His body is stripped and broken; his condemnation is the result of our perversion of justice. This cross is where all our sin gets us, and we must accept its consequences. This is the length to which God will go for you. Behold your God and be healed.

Sunday, March 3, 2024

Lent 3

Exodus 20:1-17; Psalm 19; 1 Corinthians 1:18-25; John 2:13-22

The Rev. Clint Brown

I trust that you noticed that we’ve heard the Ten Commandments twice today – once as part of the Penitential Order and, once again, as our first scripture lesson? Now one way we might think of this is as needless repetition, to hear the same thing twice; but we also might think of it more positively, as a unique opportunity not only to see how this text has been and is used in our liturgy, but, today, to also see where it comes from undetached from its scriptural frame of reference. Now time will not permit me to comment on every single Commandment this morning (as everyone breathes out a collective sigh of relief) – for that you’ll have to come to this year’s Lenten series on Thursday nights – but I think I can, in the space of the next few minutes, offer what I hope to be some helpful context and ponder with you what makes this law code so enduring and so foundational.

Actually, time was when there was no escaping the Ten Commandments, as every child candidate for confirmation could tell you. Along with the Creed and the Lord’s Prayer, children were required to memorize every single one of them at their confirmation. And, from Elizabethan times, the Commandments were, literally, required to be “written on the wall.” Any of you who have had occasion to visit a colonial era church can testify to seeing them prominently displayed on the wall at the front of the church. They were there to be a constant presence, a constant witness to what was done there, and a constant reminder that these are the pillars of our faith; and also, perhaps, to give the wandering eye something edifying to ponder during long or uninteresting sermons! 

But what exactly are the Ten Commandments? Why assign to them the importance that we do? It’s not just because of a famous movie or that a great many people believe we ought to affix them to our courthouses. To answer why, you’ll need to recall where we are at this point in the Exodus. Moses has brought the children of Israel to the foot of the mountain of God – in some places it is called Sinai, in some Horeb – and this is because, at his commissioning at the burning bush, this had been God’s directive – not only to bring out the people, but then to lead them to this mountain (Exodus 3:12). The mountain was the objective all along. And this was so that the covenant that had been made with Abraham could now be renewed with these his newly liberated descendants. “I am the God who has acted on your behalf to bring you out from under the taskmaster’s whip,” says Yahweh, “and now that this is done there are certain things you owe me in return.” But notice what it is that God actually asks for. God does not ask for a great sacrifice of bulls or rams or the payment of some other tribute, like a king might demand of a vassal in exchange for his protection. Rather, God simply requires that the Israelites now act in a certain way. It is their behavior God is interested in. Before anything else, the God of Israel cares for ethics, and this sets up an ongoing tension in the Old Testament between form and function, outward ritual and the inner disposition of the heart, that finally finds its resolution in Jesus, who answers the question definitively: “Go and learn what this means,” he admonishes the Pharisees, “‘I desire mercy, not sacrifice.’” As the Psalmist had declared centuries before, “the sacrifice acceptable to God is a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise” (Psalm 51:17). Clearly, God in interested, first, with one’s disposition, and only secondarily with ritual.

And, so, returning to the Ten Commandments, we see that they express what we might call the “religious view of life;” that is, that we purposefully bind ourselves to God’s Law and, therefore, to the attitudes and behaviors it prescribes. Ethics itself becomes a kind of offering, a kind of sacrifice. We accept that God gets to tell us both who we are and how we ought to live, and this tells us, in turn, what kind of people God expects us to be. We are not that already – there is work for us to do – and it is in this sense that ethics is a kind of sacrifice, a kind of offering.

Now I know that guilt, shame, judgment – all things that follow necessarily from law – are not hugely popular ideas these days. We tend to think of laws and regulations and their accompanying judgment as odious and limiting, as offenses to our freedom. But, more positively, we might think of law as accumulated wisdom; as getting us further, faster; as expressive of the values that are meant to give our lives the proper “shape” to becoming who it is we ought to be. Yes, laws are restrictive. Yes, we are subject because of them to continual judgment. Yes, it would be easier to just ignore sin and not speak of it. But if we never faced the reality of our falling short of our ideals, we would never grow. It is judgment that enables transformation. 

So my advice to you today would be to recover somewhat the omnipresence and reach of the Ten Commandments into your life. Hang them on your fridge. Tape them to your mirror. Make it your Lenten discipline to read through them everyday and pray with them to discern how these commands can become more than law – how they can become principles. The Ten Commandments are there to shape us and recreate us, and that, I think, is the main point. The sacrifice that God most desires is the sacrifice of yourself.

Sunday, February 18, 2024

Lent 1

Genesis 9:8-17; Psalm 25:1-9; 1 Peter 3:18-22; Mark 1:9-15

The Rev. Clint Brown

I can’t remember exactly where or when I first heard this story, but once upon a time, it could be set anywhere, there was a man who cultivated the skill of reproducing very exactly the sounds of various animals. People would come from miles around to hear him and his artistic aping, and, in this way, he came to make a living. One day, a wise teacher passed by with a group of his disciples. The sage looked on appreciatively, if not bemusedly, as the man imitated his way through the animal kingdom, proceeding in turn to grunt like a pig, whiny like a horse, and cock-a-doodle-doo like a rooster, and it struck the sage that he could use this as a lesson to teach his disciples. The following day he put up his own stand and advertised that he would put on a wonder not to be missed for a single showing only, and, as a bonus, not charge any fee at all. When the time came, a prodigious crowd gathered to see just what kind of spectacle the old man would present, but they were disheartened and not a little confused when, instead of some great novelty, the sage brought out, in turn, a pig, a horse, and a rooster. With great gusto, he squeezed each animal until it had made its characteristic sound, then he bowed, deeply and expectantly, waiting for a thunderous ovation. But though the animals’ noises were undeniably accurate on account of being made by living, breathing specimens, the people were not impressed and there was no applause. In fact, they were angry and accused the old man of trickery and drove him for all his troubles from the town with his disciples with a warning not to come back with his silly ideas again. Turning to his disciples, the teacher made his point: “You see,” he said, “the people are so enamored of appearances that they care not for what is real.” It is a good lesson for us today.

I do not need to tell you that there are many counterfeits competing for our attention and our loyalty in the world today. Modernity presents us with any number of glittering distractions and easy answers to difficult questions that would lure aware from the narrow way. This is, as they say, the age of conspicuous consumption. But Lent is a time to see through them all. Lent is a time for recognizing our real hungers. That what we most need, after all, is God. And in terms of what really matters, it's hard to argue for anything more important than our faith and its nurture. Saint Augustine of Hippo said it well in beginning his famous Confessions: "Thou madest us for Thyself, and our heart is restless, until it repose in Thee" (The Confessions of Saint Augustine, I.I). God is a deep, deep mystery – I, for one, find God the most interesting thing there is – and the neat twist is that in pursuing God we are discovering ourselves. God has told us who we are. We belong to God. God pursues us and won't leave us alone. Jesus Christ who is the same yesterday, today, and forever. Follow him. Love him. Worship him. He has the greater claim on your life than any other thing.

Sunday, February 11, 2024

Last Epiphany

2 Kings 2: 1-12; Psalm 50: 1-6; 2 Corinthians 4: 3-6; Mark 9: 2-9

The Rev. James M. L. Grace

In the Name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  AMEN.

I would not be surprised one day to find out that in heaven there is a large, warehouse-like room, kind of like a Costco.  In this vast heavenly storage room there would be shelves as high as our eyes can see stocked with billions of little purple boxes.  If you were to open one of these little purple boxes, inside you would be surprised to find a blessing which God had given you that you either ignored or were unappreciative of.  Can you imagine how big a warehouse containing all of our ignored and unappreciated blessings would need to be?  

It might look something like the warehouse we see at the end of the film Raiders of the Lost Ark, you know the one where some government employee boxes up the Ark of the Covenant for storage in a wooden box - wheeling it down an aisle of some huge government warehouse that seemingly has no end to it.  In the often-maligned sequel to Raiders of the Lost Ark – Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull, we learn the location of the warehouse holding the ark of the covenant – a top-secret military base in Nevada – Area 51.  Oh, and there are aliens in wooden boxes for storage there, too, by the way.  We also learn from  Indiana Jones and the Crystal Skull that hopping into a lead encased refrigerator will save you from a nuclear explosion, a scene from the film which has now become its own meme “nuking the fridge.” 

Today “nuking the fridge” is a phrase used by movie fans to describe the declining point of a film franchise as a result of its heavy reliance on special effects.   You all might come up with a similar term – nuking the sermon – which would describe the declining point of a sermon as a result of its heavy reliance on pop culture refences, a point I think this sermon has crossed two minutes ago. 

In today’s reading from 2 Corinthians, the Apostle Paul writes these words “the god of this world has blinded the minds of the unbelievers, to keep them from seeing the light of the gospel of the glory of Christ.” I am drawn to this verse from today’s reading and its description of blindness.  As Paul describes it, the blindness is inflicted on unbelievers by the “god of this world.”  This is the only place in the entire new testament where the devil, is given the title “the god of this world.”  According to Paul, the number one priority of the “god of this world’s” job description is to keep us blind, because in our blindness, we bocme unbelievers. 

And to varying degrees, all of us are blind.  Paul understood blindness.  He himself was blinded on the road to Damascus, only to have his sight regained when he learned that the love of God conquers all hate and removes all human blindness.  Several years ago I read the Pulitzer Prize winning book, Caste, by Isabel Wilkerson.  In the book, Wilkerson establishes a daring premise, which is that many of us are blinded to an American caste system which she argues is “based upon what people looked like, an internalized ranking, unspoken, unnamed, unacknowledged by everyday citizens even as they go about their lives adhering to it and acting upon it subconsciously to this day.”  The blindness of so many of us to this American Caste system, Wilkerson argues, “is what gives it power and longevity.” 

I want to revisit that vast warehouse – not the one from Indiana Jones, but the one I believe might be in heaven, the warehouse full of all our unnoticed and ignored blessings.  How many untold blessings would there be, just warehoused away, collecting dust, because we are blind and unwilling to open our eyes to see them?  What would it take to remove the veil from our eyes so that we might see those blessings?

 As I said earlier – the “god of this world” according to Paul, is happiest when we are blind.  What the “god of this world” cannot stand is gratitude.  The “god of this world” prefers we dwell in self-pity and morbid self-reflection, because that keeps us looking back to the past, while remaining blind to the present.  If we forego all the self-pitying and open our eyes to see everything, we have to be grateful for – the “god of this world” will run from us.  He will flee.  He cannot stand us being grateful and having our eyes opened.   

I cannot say it any better than Alice Walker does in her novel The Color Purple when Shug Avery says, “I think it pisses off God when you walk by the color purple in a field and don’t notice it.”  Life is too short to fill a heavenly warehouse with more purple boxes full of ignored blessings.  There is blessing in this world.  Are you courageous enough to open your eyes and see it?  AMEN.

Sunday, January 21, 2024

Epiphany 3 (Year B)

Jonah 3:1-5, 10; Song of Jonah; 1 Corinthians 7:29-31; Mark 1:14-20

The Rev. Clint Brown

You are called. That is the message for today. You are called to proclaim to the world – or, at least, your own small part of it – the good news of salvation in Jesus Christ. No other task that you’ve been given to do as a Christian – not your Bible reading, not your prayers, not your church attendance, not your pledge – is more tied to your success as a Christian as your commission to be an ambassador of Christ. In our readings we trace the outlines of that ambassadorship. In Mark, we see Jesus making the first call and see the response of the first disciples. In 1 Corinthians, Paul reminds us of the urgency of all this and of taking our responsibility seriously. This world, he says, and everything in it, is on the way out. Nothing lasts forever – neither the cosmos nor our lives – and so we had better make our move and make it decisively. And, finally, the story of Jonah illustrates both the failure and success of those who are called. Sometimes we get it very wrong and shirk our duties by trying to run from them; and sometimes we get it right and see whole cities transformed. Such is the life of a disciple. So to this clear and simple message, there is only one point that I hope to contribute today, and for that purpose I would have you briefly consider with me the case of the city of Nineveh.

Nineveh was the capital city of the Assyrian empire, and, in the march of empires, you’ll recall that Assyria stands between the Sumerians and Babylonians, on one side, and the Persians on the other, having its heyday in the 8th and 7th centuries before the time of Christ. Nineveh lay on the east bank of the river Tigris, directly across from present day Mosul. Many scholars are persuaded that the famous “hanging gardens of Babylon,” one of the seven wonders of the ancient world, are more likely to be identified with those excavated at Nineveh and constructed during the reign of Sennacherib in the early 7th century. Until its destruction in the year 612 BCE, Nineveh was known throughout the ancient world, as it is in the book of Jonah, as the “great city” (Jonah 1:2; 3:2).

The city actually crosses the stage of the biblical narrative remarkably early, being first mentioned nearly at the beginning in Genesis 10. There we learn of its founding by the great hunter Nimrod, who, incidentally, is stated to have founded another city of no small importance named Babel; and, like its sister Babel, the Nineveh of the Old Testament is uniformly maligned. The book of Kings gloats over the mysterious abandonment by Sennacherib of his siege of Jerusalem and hurried flight back to his capital, perhaps because of plague. The prophets Nahum and Zephaniah, writing a century after Jonah, proclaimed the ultimate fall of Nineveh and do not seem to know or care about Jonah’s mission or any conversion experience in the city’s history to which they might hearken. The book of Tobit, one of the apocryphal books, tells the story of a pious Jew living as an exile in Nineveh. He urges his family to flee the city before the judgment Nahum predicts. And the book of Judith, also one of the apocryphal books, recounts how an arrogant Assyrian king is outwitted and decapitated by an intrepid Israelite heroine. In the Old Testament, it is not too far-fetched to imagine that for its writers and readers the city of Nineveh was a place for cursing, the very personification of evil. What a contrast this makes to the penitent and chastened city described in the book of Jonah.

The Old Testament thus presents two images of Nineveh – the arrogant city that gets what it deserves and the repentant city that God spares – and, in the New Testament, the picture gets even more interesting. When in Luke 11:32 Jesus looks to the past for a model of the kind of response he is looking for, it is not just any city that he singles out for recognition but the Ninevites who responded to Jonah who, he says, will sit in judgment over his own generation. And this is where, I think, we do well to take note of a singularly ambiguous term that Jonah had used in his message to Nineveh. Foretelling its fate, he had cried, “Forty days more and Nineveh will be overthrown!” (Jonah 3:4). That the people of Nineveh did respond positively to Jonah’s message we know, but what bears scrutiny is that their response plays on the ambiguities of this verb “overthrown.”

In most places in the Old Testament, most conspicuously in the story of Sodom and Gomorrah, this verb signifies destruction, it is true; yet, in others, under the aspect of overturning what seems to be fated and inexorable, the word signifies deliverance.

Deuteronomy 23:5, “The Lord your God refused to heed Balaam; the Lord your God [overturned] the curse into a blessing for you, because the Lord your God loved you.”

Psalm 66:6, recalling the crossing at the Red Sea, reads, “[God overturned] the sea into dry land.”

Jeremiah 31:13, “I will turn their mourning into joy,” that is, in the sense of overturning the one condition for the other.

That Nineveh is to be undone for its sins would seem to have been Jonah’s proclamation, and yet because of the grammatical ambiguity of this particular verbal form it could also be read as a reflexive. “Nineveh is overthrown,” could be read, instead, as “Nineveh turns (itself) over.” In other words, Ninevah will be undone but not through destruction, but through repentance. Bear that in mind, then, as we turn to the call of Jesus. “Repent!” he commands – or, “Change your mind,” as it reads literally in the Greek – let your whole world be turned upside down and inside out, we can hear Jesus saying, and then follow him. You’ll see that the message of Jesus and that of Nineveh bear more than a passing resemblance.

My point comes to this: to be called to be a disciple of Jesus Christ is to be called to change the world, but to change the world we must first change ourselves. “Overthrow yourself,” we might say with the people of Nineveh. And the hope is that it is this ongoing work of being converted ourselves that is the most compelling witness we can make to the world. We can hide behind and make a great show with our words, but how we live in the full view of others is an altogether different proposition. Perhaps this is the thing that is keeping the most people out of the churches – that they know too many Christians. So, remember that you are called – called to be faithful in giving, faithful in attending church, faithful in piety – but, above all, to be faithful to preach the gospel. And, by the way, use words only if necessary. Amen.

Sunday, January 7, 2024

1 Epiphany

Genesis 1: 1-5; Psalm 29; Acts 19: 1-7; Mark 1: 4-11

The Rev. James M.L. Grace

In the Name of God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  AMEN.

Today is a joyous occasion as we celebrate Holy Baptism this morning.  For the purposes of my sermon this morning (which will be brief), I simply want to share three brief points on what baptism is and what will be happening up here around the font in just a few minutes.

My first point is to simply state what baptism is, and what the Episcopal Church’s understanding of the sacrament is.  If you open to the very back of the prayer book, you will find a section therein entitled “An Outline of the Faith” or more briefly, the Catechism. Now, after three years in seminary, as a well-trained priest, who has taken classes on sacramental theology and liturgy, I know where to go to find answers to questions such as “what does the word catechism mean?”  Again, as a result of my three-year residential seminary education which cost more than around thirty thousand dollars a year, I know where to find the answer to the question “what does catechism mean?”  Wikipedia.

According to Wikipedia, “catechism” derives from the Greek word katecheo (kat-ay-kheh-o) which means “to teach by word of mouth.”  As it appears in the prayer book, the Catechism is presented in the form of a question, followed by an answer.  Generations ago, it was expected that people would memorize the Catechism, and a catechumen was title given to a person who studied (and memorized) the Catechism in preparation for Holy Baptism. 

Page 858 of the prayer book begins the section of the Catechism on Holy Baptism.  The first question is “what is Holy Baptism?”  Great question – and the church has a great answer: “Holy Baptism is the Sacrament by which God adopts is as his children and makes us members of Christ’s Body, the Church, and inheritors of the kingdom of God.  That’s my first point. Baptism is full inclusion into the body of Christ, and inheritors of the kingdom of God. 

But what does it mean to be part of the Body of Christ?  That’s my second point, and its explanation will be more brief than the first.  The Body of Christ is this – the church.  All the people gathered here this morning, and elsewhere around the world in churches all kinds.  But what is the church, and what is it called to do?  Here also, clear answers are provided for us within the Catechism (and probably also Wikipedia).  On page 855 of the prayer book, the catechism clearly states what the church’s calling is, is at the very top of the page, and it says this: “the mission of the church is to restore all people to unity with God and each other in Christ.”  Well, how do we do that – there is an answer to that question as well: “the church pursues its mission as it prays and worships, proclaims the Gospel, and promotes justice, peace, and love.”  To be a part of the Body of Christ, means to pray, worship, and promote love, justice, and peace.

Which brings me to my third, and final point – which will be the most brief of all three, and it is this.  Baptism makes us inheritors of the kingdom of God.  That means that in baptism we are God’s child.  Now God has no grandchildren, but God does have a lot of children.  There is no better title in the world than this “child of God, inheritor of the kingdom.”  President of the United States?  That’s way below being a child of God.  Likewise with being the CEO of Amazon  or Google?  Being a child of God is better than even those, too.  Well, Rev. Brown, shall we baptize?  AMEN. 

Sunday, December 31, 2023

Christmas 1

Isaiah 61:10-62:3; Psalm 147; Galatians 3:23-25; 4:4-7; John 1:1-18

The Rev. Clint Brown

It’s New Year’s, which means it’s time for resolutions. Perhaps you have begun to think of yours? Whether you have or have yet to, the year ahead presents limitless possibilities. But perhaps, like me, you’ve come to realize, looking back over many years of making many resolutions, that there have been far more failed ones than successful ones. That’s just part of being human. When making resolutions we all tend to overreach a bit and resolve to do things that are either too ambitious or too vague to be actionable. One suggestion I might make is to commend to you the advice of the wellness columnist Tara Parker-Pope.[1] She says that to achieve wellness we need simply to remember four words: move, nourish, reflect, and connect. These, she says, are the four elements of a balanced life. Far from needing to think about resolutions as grand feats of will and endurance, all we really need to do is make sure to move, nourish, reflect, and connect every day, which can take many forms, the simpler and more sensible, the better. Some examples:

•      Move – exercise and physical fitness; notice the gentleness of the word; you don’t have to schedule time with a physical trainer at the gym; walking is not discounted; getting up out of your chair every 30 minutes and walking around the room will suffice; whatever you can think of to combat being completely sedentary is the idea here; but getting your heart rate up, that’s even better

•      Nourish – healthy eating habits; good nutrition; how much of what you are eating is highly processed or flavored soybean oil?; what’s the ratio of fruits and vegetables to the other things on your plate?; a good place to start thinking about your nutrition might be to pay a visit to the website of the President’s Council on Sports, Fitness & Nutrition found at www.health.gov;[2] “food for thought,” you might say

•      Reflect – our bodies must be strong, but so must our minds and spirits; we exist at all these levels; the life of the mind and spirit need sustenance, too; this is where it’s wise to be a reader and a church goer; prayer, journaling, meditation; reading and study; remember that reflected experience is the only kind that matters; otherwise, we are just victims of circumstance; in the Information Age, reflecting on all that we hear and separating truth from hype – otherwise known as “discernment” – is becoming more and more an indispensable quality of the responsible citizen

•      Connect – relationships; we are social animals, we humans; we can’t seem to get along without one another, nor would be want to; tending, mending, bending; and, yes, this includes our relationship to God

Because for the Christian, it must be remembered, everything is related to God. We recognize ourselves as children owing to God our gratitude and our obedience. This is what separates those of us standing within a faith tradition from those outside of one. Whatever it is you decide to do in the way of resolutions or any other big decision this year, know that you are duty bound to make reference to God and to seek God’s will. There are only two ways a choice can go – there is the choice that either glorifies God or the one that doesn’t – and in making the first choice – the better choice – we soon realize that one of its distinguishing properties is that it minimizes our role and our capacity. This is true in the big things and the small things, for, whatever we decide to do, know that ultimately we can’t claim anything in the first person, only in the third person. It will not be because of anything we have done that we will enter heaven – good works, right belief, praying more, giving more – but, rather, what he has done – “he” being Christ.

I’m reminded of the story of the repentant thief – the one who was crucified with Jesus whom Jesus pardoned. He arrives at the gate of heaven to his surprise and the surprise of the angel attending the gate. The angel asks him how is it that he comes to be here? Are you baptized? (What’s that?) Can you name the books of the Bible? (I’ve never even opened one.) How many times a week did you go to the synagogue? (Oh *chuckles* I always did my best work while everyone else was there.) Did you tithe 10%? (I’m a thief! I take, I don’t give.) Hold on, let me get my supervisor…Let me get this straight. You don’t know the creeds. You never darkened the door of the Lord’s house. You have failed every test of faith. How is it that you think we can let you in here? To which the man replies, “Honestly, I don’t know anything about any of that. All I know is that the man on the middle cross said I could come.”

Our right to enter heaven, to claim anything at all, has been won for us… not by us. It is for this reason that I said before that whatever we resolve to do, ultimately, we can’t claim any success for ourselves. It can only be in the third person. There are limitless choices laid out in front of you for the coming year – indeed, for your whole life long – but none of them would be possible at all save for the man on the middle cross. So make this year a year to think more about the difference the man on the middle cross makes to you and for your life; for seeing and striving less for what you want for you and more for what he wants for you. Resolve to be led to the foot of the manger – to the foot of the cross – where the wisest of every age have resolved to be.

Children’s Sermon: Two or three years ago (December of 2020), a very unique event happened in the night sky. The two largest planets in our solar system, Jupiter and Saturn, seemed, from our perspective on Earth, to come together. Now they didn’t really – they are actually separated by 450 million miles – but it looked like it to us because their orbital paths crossed. Now I find that really interesting because it suggests that two things can be both near and far at the same time depending on your perspective. 

I think Jesus is like that. On the one hand, the first Christmas was a long time ago in a land far away, very far from us in space and time; and now, as we speak, Jesus is not in heaven, which seems to be even farther from us. But we must also remember that Jesus is near. He still matters. He still cares about us and involves himself in our lives. He lives even now. He is as near to us as saying a prayer. He is as close to us as partaking of the bread and wine at communion. Jesus may be far away in heaven, but he can also be near us in all these ways, and, especially, when we invite him to live in our hearts. It is in this way that Jesus can be both far and near.

I want to encourage you to remember that, even though Jesus is God, he is not too busy to be always thinking of you and watching over you. So don’t forget him, either. He matters. He is close. No matter how far he may seem, he is always near. Let us say a prayer…

[1] Tara Parker-Pope, “Four Simple Words to Help You Live Well,” New York Times, January 2, 2019, https://www.nytimes.com/2019/01/02/well/30-day-well-challenge-helping-you-live-well.html.

[2] https://health.gov/pcsfn

Sunday, December 10, 2023

Advent 2

Isaiah 40:1-11, Mark 1:1-8

The Rev. Cn. Joann Saylors

Some of you may have come across a headline on the internet this week: “Grinch terrorizes Texas schoolchildren with ‘Santa is fake’ sign.”[i] A self-described street preacher was accosted by parents of Sleepy Hollow Elementary in Amarillo after what he calls his “Grinch preach” during morning drop-off. He was dressed as the Grinch and holding a sign that said, “Santa is fake, Jesus is real.” He also had a camera with which he filmed the encounter and uploaded it to YouTube.

The parents, understandably, were frightened and annoyed, and yelled back and went for the camera. Although the police were called, no one was arrested. But the story seems to have gone viral.

I have many thoughts. First, let me address the sign. There is great irony in someone dressed as a fictional character deciding what is fake and what is real. There is a real St. Nicholas, whom we now know as Santa Claus. Although I am on board with the “Jesus is real” part. But it’s hard to imagine taking religious instruction from the Grinch.

Next, this is exactly the kind of action people fear when we talk about evangelism. Evangelism is based in ongoing relationship and begins with love. Shouting at people and scaring them has not been effective in forming new Jesus followers. Neither have the Grinch’s other strategies: 80 minute videos of one-man protests, creepily filming children waiting in line to see Santa, or Quran burnings. You might, however, see the hand of God if such a burning event is foiled by a shirtless skateboarder stealing the holy book at the last minute. It is easy to dismiss the man’s efforts or become cynical. Of course real Christians would never work like that jerk. And a former atheist who had an epiphany after watching the movie Signs, suddenly believing everything in his life had been foretold by God, as this man’s story goes? Well, that’s ridiculous. The writer of the article clearly thinks so, as it ends with “Whether he believes aliens are real or not remains to be seen.” In the author’s mind, both the possibility of an epiphany from God or the presence of sentient life beyond earth are beneath consideration. Click on to the next article.

If I haven’t made it clear, I vehemently disagree with this man’s theology, his prejudices, and his tactics for protesting and expressing his faith. Not ok. But I have been driven to think about him a little more.

Is there a possibility he had a vision from God? It’s certainly not without precedent. In the book of Numbers God says to Moses, Aaron, and Miriam, “Hear my words: When there are prophets among you, I the Lord make myself known to them in visions; I speak to them in dreams.”[ii] Abraham, Moses, Isaiah all had visions of God. Paul had a vision so strong it knocked him off his horse. St. Catherine of Siena experienced many ecstatic visions, including one of a “’mystical marriage’ to Christ, the wedding party including the Virgin Mary, St. John the Evangelist, St. Paul, St. Dominic, and King David, who played his harp. Christ presented her a ring that was invisible to others, but which she could see for the rest of her life.”[iii]   Julian of Norwich had deathbed visions of Jesus, after which she was restored to health. Her book Revelations of Divine Love, a classic, describes them. At age 13 St. Joan of Arc had a vision of St. Michael, surrounded by angels, after which she wept because she wanted to go with them. Teresa of Avila, St. Francis of Assisi, St. Augustine. Many have reported visions of Mary, and the Basilica of the Virgin of Guadalupe, built where Juan Diego and his uncle had one, is the third most-visited religious site in the world. So while I may not agree with what he’s done with it, I’m not willing to say the Grinch didn’t have an experience of God.

And a scary, oddly dressed person standing outside yelling at people in hopes they will change? Also not unique. John the Baptist’s camel-hair form of dress, one commenter notes, was “several centuries out of fashion, just the kind of clothing worn by the prophet Elijah.”[iv] And while in Matthew’s Gospel John enhances his sermons by calling religious leaders a “brood of vipers” and mentioning both wrath and fire as the outcome for those who are not “good fruit,”[v] his message in Mark is scary enough. The preparation for the coming of the Messiah, the promised one, involves repentance and confession. Hard words then and now, difficult to reconcile with the “good news” Mark promises. Because repentance and confession involve taking a serious look at ourselves and our actions. In the same way John is looking to the future while wearing clothing that points to the past, his message calls us to prepare for the One who is to come while interrogating our own pasts, personal and collective.

This is not something most of us are eager to do, is it? Let the one who is without sin cast the first stone. We all have things we regret saying or doing, or even thinking, but it’s so much easier to ignore that or rationalize it away. I confess to you – as I was reading the story of the “Grinch preach” the first time, I was cynical and dismissive. As I said, it’s easy. What caused me to think twice about my attitude was that last line, “Whether he believes aliens are real or not remains to be seen,” so close to using the word “epiphany.” I guess I’m formed to respond to churchy words like “epiphany” as a better person than I was being in the moment. But it gave me pause, and I reflected, and I was able to name my thoughts and feelings.

And the whole experience made me wonder. It bears repeating: I vehemently disagree with this man’s theology, his prejudices, and his tactics for protesting and expressing his faith. But I’m curious. How would we respond to John the Baptist? Would we use the excuse of his appearance and techniques to dismiss his message? Especially those of us who might be considered religious leaders? Or would we feel challenged to repent and confess? Would we do it?

What would it be like to feel like we were fully living into what God called us to do? Not in a way that excludes humility and reflection, but in a way that made us brave and confident. What would it take to be so driven to share good news Jesus, of hope and peace and joy? To tell our stories? To invite others in?

I know that I need to spend more time praying about this, and I want to push myself to be better at loving those I’d rather judge, or dismiss, or parody. I don’t know what else I might find when I look back, repent, and confess. Or what you might. But I hope that we will heed the call to prepare for the coming of the Promised One. And I hope we will share this journey together. AMEN.

[i] Brittanie Shey, “Grinch terrorizes Texas schoolchildren with ‘Santa is fake’ sign, https://www.msn.com/en-us/news/us/grinch-terrorizes-texas-schoolchildren-with-santa-is-fake-sign/ar-AA1l31A7, accessed December 6, 2023.

[ii] Num 12:6, NRSV.

[iii] https://catholicexchange.com/the-ecstatic-visions-of-st-catherine-of-siena/, accessed December 7, 2023.

[iv] Martin B. Copenhaver, “Second Sunday of Advent: Mark 1:8,” in Feasting on the Word Year B, Volume 1, ed. David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008), 47.

[v] Mat 3:7,10, NRSV.

Sunday, December 3, 2023

Advent 1

Isaiah 64:1-9; Psalm 80:1-7, 16-18; 1 Corinthians 1:3-9; Mark 13:24-37

The Rev. Clint Brown

One way we might think about Advent is to think of it as the start of a journey, and what that journey is is the telling of the whole Christian story once again. Its general outline is fairly well known. On our way there will be a miraculous birth and then a baptism that inaugurates a ministry, a temptation, a calling of a small band of disciples, a Sermon on the Mount, various confrontations and controversies with the religious and political authorities, a series of miracles and awesome displays of power but also tender moments of intimate connection where the broken, of every ilk and stripe, are made whole, a triumphal entry, a last supper, a clandestine arrest, a betrayal by a trusted friend, a rushed trial, Pilate will wash hands, a long, tortuous walk to a hill outside the city walls, and then a gruesome execution spelling the end to all that had been hoped for, all that had been promised…except that it wasn’t the end. Early in morning, on the first day of the week, the women will rush back from their visit to the tomb to exclaim to the bewildered disciples, “He is risen!” – and then the whole story changes. A tiny band of defeated and demoralized nobodies will burst forth from the Upper Room to change the world. Today the Church begins anew to tell that story: to hand down the precious deposit of faith that we have received, that we, in our turn, will hand on to others. So what is Advent? Advent is for beginning.

But like any journey we may contemplate, we must prepare. We must check our gear and go shopping for essentials and sit down to chart our route and take account of the weather forecast. That’s Advent, too. Advent is for checking in with ourselves to see where we are in our spiritual journey. A whole new church year stretches out before us promising both the expected and familiar but also the potential to be touched differently at different points along the way as we experience the familiar anew. We are both the same and different from the last time we passed this way, so before we take another turn through the Christian year, we need to establish our base line, the condition in which we find ourselves as we make the start. Advent is for preparation.

The words we associate with Advent help us get a sense for the kind of preparation we are meant to do. Words like anticipation, apocalypse, second coming, deliverance, eschaton, expectation, fulfillment, hope, judgment, light of the world, longing, redemption, Messiah, peace, preparation, promise, prophet, repentance, and waiting. The season gets its name from the Latin word for “coming” – adventus – and the church has long understood that there are, in fact, two “comings” to prepare for. One is the coming of the baby in the manger, to be sure, the highly anticipated arrival that already has the world in a frenzy of shopping and preparation. And as has been the case for centuries, the challenge for us is to see, through all that noise and bustle, the coming of a Savior. Because if we’re not careful, it is so easy to miss him and allow the meaning of this season to get crowded out by all the other things we are doing. But if it’s any consolation, this is nothing new to Jesus. He always seems to be having trouble getting recognized and noticed. He was overlooked and pushed aside from the very start when his parents were consigned to a cattle stall because there was no room for them in the inn. Jesus, unfortunately, is no stranger to being brushed off. What a way to welcome God into the world! So let us do better, shall we? Advent is for recognizing what’s really going on.

But just as important as Christ's first advent, and equally the focus of this season, the Church takes heed of his second advent, the Second Coming of Christ, when he returns as the mighty King in the fullness of his power and glory. At this second advent he will be without any of the limitations he took on before, and there will be no possibility of mistaking him or ignoring him because he will be riding the clouds as if on a chariot. Every eye shall turn to see him, even those that pierced him. He is coming again to rule and reign, rightfully, as Lord of all. He who is the hope of the nations. He who is the righteous judge. He who is the conquering lamb. His return spells doom for all the complacent, the distracted, and the unkind, and means that all that is upside down and wrong side out in this world will be put to rights. And so Advent is, especially, for giving our whole selves over to his penetrating gaze as our judge. In the midst of excess, we become repentant. In the midst of frenzy and disproportion, we aim to grow a little more quiet. We do this because we recognize that before he comes in a manger, before he comes in the clouds, Jesus Christ must come into our hearts. Advent is for turning our whole selves to Jesus to be both savior and judge. So I commend to you, in closing, those ancient words of the Church that express all our hope and longing in this and every season of Advent – Maranatha! Come Lord Jesus!

 Amen.

Sunday, November 19, 2023

Proper 28

The Rev. James M. L. Grace

In the Name of God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  Amen.

So I am not Bob Merril.  Bob is not feeling well today, and so, I am here in his place.  He did send me his sermon he intended to preach today in case I wanted to preach, but I am not great at preaching my own sermons, let alone preaching someone else’s. So this morning, you all get this sermon I cooked up yesterday. 

Oddly enough, throughout my vocation as a priest, I’ve learned something.   It often appears that the less time I spend preparing sermons, the more people like them.  The more time I spend on a sermon, fretting over this and that, the more people say “meh that was okay.”  Regardless of how much time I spend preparing a sermon, I know that Don Chevalier always times them. 

Today’s sermon is on the reading from 1 Thessalonians today for two reasons, mainly.  First - this letter – 1 Thessalonians – is the oldest part of the entire New Testament.  It was written in the year 51 CE – approximately twenty years after the resurrection of Jesus.  The Apostle Paul’s letter to the Thessalonians is older than all four of the Gospels in the New Testament.  Secondly, the content of the Apostle Paul's letter is a master lesson in how to live, period. 

In the section from the letter today Paul writes about the coming "Day of the Lord" which is a term Paul throws around to describe the coming judgment of all nations.  He did not come up with this term himself, it appears multiple times throughout the Old Testament prophets in books like Daniel and Joel.  The Day of the Lord is about the end of human history when all must render an account of our lives before God.   

While the Day of the Lord is a moment in the future, it is also very much in the present.  Most people in this church today can think of a moment in their lives of bewilderment, terror, frustration, or despair.  Likely that moment in your life appeared, as Paul says, like a thief in the night.  

Things were going along fine, and then all of a sudden as with the labor pains that come upon a pregnant woman, the moment you were not prepared for arrived, and there it was.  The point Paul makes in Thessalonians is that given enough time, this moment will happen to every single one of us.  Therefore, Paul asserts, we are to be awake and to be sober, we are to put on the breastplate of faith and love, and for a helmet the hope of salvation.  I know of no better way to live than what Paul proclaims.

I recently watched the film "The Shack," a film I had avoided watching for a long time for no good reason.  I had a lot of contempt prior to investigation about it.  I thought it would be touchy feely like a Hallmark movie with forced, awkward sentimentality.  It did have some of that, but the movie taught me something.  It taught me, through a powerful scene, that we are not given the right to judge anything.  We don't have any authority when it comes to our lives to say something that happens to us is either good or bad.  We aren't the judge, though we often act as if we are.  Only God is the judge.  

And if God is our judge, then God will judge with mercy and justice.  The Day of the Lord, whether it is happening to you right now, or whether you experience it at the end of time, is something we neither get to choose or control – it belongs to God.  If you feel today that you are in a sweltering crucible of judgment – that life is unexplainably difficult, resist the temptation to judge the experience as bad.  On the other side of eternity, you might look back on this moment and see it as the greatest miracle you’ve ever encountered.    

Those people fortunate enough to find true spiritual maturity – and I’m not talking about people who just go to church on autopilot – I’m talking about people who hunger and thirst for the knowledge of God’s will and the power to carry that out.  Those are the fortunate among us –  no longer need fear God's judgment, or dread it.  They give thanks for it.  As do I.  AMEN.

Sunday, November 12, 2023

Proper 27

Joshua 24: 1-3a, 14-25; Psalm 78: 1-7; 1 Thessalonians 4: 13-18; Matthew 25: 1-13

The Rev. James M.L. Grace

In the Name of God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  AMEN.

During the time of Jesus, the customs surrounding marriage were different than they are today.  There were no wedding coordinators, no destination weddings, no getting married in Las Vegas – it was different back then.  One of the ways wedding customs of Israel were different involved the bride and the groom.  On the day of the actual wedding, the groom would go with a group of friends to the home of the bride – usually in the evening. 

Once at her parent’s home, the family of the bride would present her to the groom and the bride and groom would go to their new home, and once they arrived there, this would begin a wedding celebration that would last for several days – that’s a lot of wedding cake.

Young women from the groom’s family would wait in the house at night until the wedding party arrived.  No one knew when the bride and the groom would return to their new home, so their arrival was never predictable. 

In the story Jesus tells today, ten bridesmaids wait in the home for the groom.  It is evening, and each bridesmaid has an oil lamp which they keep lit because it is dark.  Five of the bridesmaids came prepared with extra oil for their lamps in case they needed it, while the other five bridesmaids did not bring extra oil. 

For the five who did not have extra oil for their lamps, when they ran out, they asked the other five who had extra oil if they could borrow some, but they did not have enough to share.  So the bridesmaids who had no oil left the house in search of more.  While they were gone, groom and bride arrived and the party started.  When the bridesmaids returned, they found themselves locked out of the party.  Because they left to look for more oil, they missed the couple’s return, they missed their big moment, because they were not prepared.

The message of the story is summed up in the two words of the Boy Scout motto: “Be Prepared.”   In the story, Jesus is the bridegroom, and we are the bridesmaids – waiting for them.  The question pointed to each of us is simple – do we have enough oil in our lamps?  Are we prepared?

Twenty-two years ago, St. Andrew’s Episcopal School opened its doors to students for the first time.  There was much careful planning that occurred prior to its opening – teachers were hired, rooms were outfitted for Montessori education.  Everything was ready, every preparation made, and the school celebrated its opening day…on September 10, 2001.  There are some things even the most careful preparation cannot account for. 

We are often unprepared for what comes next in our lives, despite our constant preoccupation with the future.  Sometimes a premature ending takes us by surprise.  On other occasions, we are unprepared for something to take longer than we had anticipated.  We find ourselves thinking we have all the time in the world to achieve an important goal, to discontinue a bad habit or begin a new one, to take care of ourselves, to develop a relationship with God, to read an important book.  But how much time do we really have? 

This past Sunday was Commitment Sunday at St. Andrew’s, meaning that we blessed all the pledges received for 2024 at the altar.  As of this morning, 119 pledges had already been returned totaling $778,000.  Our pledge goal is $815,000.  We are 95% there!  Eighty-four of those pledges were from families or individuals who increased their pledge since last year.   If you have already submitted your pledge card for 2024, thank you. If you haven’t, a pledge card is included in your service bulletin today.  Fill it out and place it in the collection plate.  We are so close to our goal. 

The dollar amount you write on your pledge card is truly the oil for our lamps at St. Andrew’s.  We are prepared to step out in faith, to do the work that God has called us to do.  St. Andrew’s is prepared because of each of you – because of your generosity, and your ministry.  So - until the bridegroom returns, be faithful and prepared.  AMEN.

Sunday, November 5, 2023

All Saints

Revelation 7:9-17; Psalm 34:1-10, 22; 1 John 3:1-3; Matthew 5:1-12

The Rev. Clint Brown

There is a story of a young girl who would often accompany her father to his part time job. It was a rather unique job in that he was responsible for cleaning the cathedral in the city where they lived. While he worked, he would allow her to wander around on her own and explore what, to a small child, must have been a wonderland. You can imagine her delight as she discovered seemingly endless corridors and mysterious locked doors and wondered about all the unique objects stuffed into nooks and crannies. One day she found herself taking particular notice of the windows which to her looked just like pictures. She was transfixed by the way the evening light, streaming through the windows, would fall on her while she stood there, bathing her in the warm and varied hues of the stained glass. On the way home that night she asked her father about the people in the windows – “Who are they?” – and her father explained that some were angels; some were great characters or scenes from the Bible; some showed the life of Christ; and some were saints. “What’s a saint?” she asked. “Well, did you notice the light coming through the window? A saint is a person you only see when the light shines through.”

This has come to be for me the best definition of a saint I know of, a person you only see because the light of Christ shines through. There is no hint of self-importance in a saint, no interest in fame or power, or that we all see them. Rather, their desire is to be transparent to the work of Christ through them. We call a person a saint before they talk differently and act differently, in ways that suggest to us that when we see them, we are seeing a bit of what God must be like. A saint is a person made visible by the character of God. It is why on All Saints we hear the Beatitudes – “Blessed are the poor in spirit.” “Blessed are the meek.” “Blessed are the merciful.” “Blessed are the peacemakers.” There are not normal ways of behaving; these are, indeed, saintly ways of behaving. These are glimpses of what a saint is like, what God is like, and God is not through making saints. God means for you and me to be one, too. So let the light of Christ shine through you bright and clear and strong this day and every day. Go… be a saint.

Sunday, October 22, 2023

Proper 24

Exodus 33:12-23; Psalm 99; 1 Thessalonians 1:1-10; Matthew 22:15-22

The Rev. Clint Brown

If you were wondering what was actually inscribed on the coin they handed to Jesus, it was this: “Tiberius Caesar, Son of the Divine Augustus, Augustus.” The coin would not have been as perfectly machine tooled as a modern coin, but it would have borne a recognizable likeness of the emperor Tiberius and this inscription. By the time we arrive at this scene in the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus has entered Jerusalem, cleared the Temple, and told several parables about how the religious leaders of his generation are misunderstanding God’s purposes. Matthew now shifts from the realm of abstraction into reality by stringing together several examples of how this is the case, beginning with this confrontation about taxation. Everything about the exchange here is loaded. To begin with, the Pharisees and the Herodians were not a natural coalition. On just about everything they were opposed. But in Jesus they found common cause because he was destabilizing to both their agendas. The coin they brought to Jesus was a trap to force Jesus to choose between Caesar or God, to make a statement that was either treasonous to Rome or offensive to the people. How will Jesus answer?

Taxation was a hot topic in Palestine. The Jews hated paying taxes not only because the money supported their oppressors and symbolized their subjection, but also because they were offended by how the ruling class lived off their suffering and how the state used tax money to subsidize heathen temples. The system itself was obnoxious. For a flat fee, tax collectors were contracted by Rome to manage a district. Collect the quota for that district and anything in excess of that was yours to pocket. It was a system tailor-made for corruption. It was also highly effective. By playing on the greed of the tax collectors, Rome ensured that it got its share, and it effectively erected a buffer between itself and the people. But if and when things did break down and the situation got too out of hand, the tax collector had the full weight and power of the imperial system at his back, with its soldiers and arms and its own cruel and inhuman means of extracting what it wanted. About such an oppressive system, the people were obviously very interested in hearing what Jesus had to say. If Jesus agreed that it was right to pay taxes to Caesar, the Pharisees would say that he was opposed to God, and the people would turn against him. If Jesus said the taxes should not be paid, the Herodians could hand him over to Herod on the charge of rebellion. It was one or the other.

But Jesus slips the trap brilliantly. He says that these positions are not mutually exclusive; a Christian can do both. In fact, this probably counts as some of the most practical advice Jesus ever gives us for living in the real world. Where the idealism of the Sermon on the Mount and so much of Jesus’s other teaching may have us always feeling like we are falling short, this is something we feel like we can do. We can accept the logic that we Christians are, in fact, dual citizens, both of a country and of Christ. What Jesus demonstrates here is that any incompatibility that seems to exist disappears when we realize that God is ultimately in control. Paying taxes did not have to indicate submission to the divinity claimed by the emperor. The words on the coins were incorrect. Caesar had the right to claim their tax money, but he had no claim on their souls. This is the crucial point to remember. When your commitment to God is clarified it will be seen that all other commitments are as well.

Experience has shown me that one can be a good Christian and live out the ideals of Christianity whether one inhabits the political left or the political right. For my part, I want to make it clear that I won’t today or ever make this pulpit political. I know that Jimmy feels the same. You will hear me preach about Christian obligations and these will have political ramifications like my message today, but you will never hear me endorse a candidate or a political party. This is not a cop out – I have my opinions – this is on principle. What we all need to hear, and especially in times of superheated partisan politics like today, is that our salvation does not lie in a political party; it lies with Christ. Jesus taught that Christians should render to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s. He may not have elaborated on all the issues related to a Christian citizen’s responsibility to the state, but he did indicate a preference for compliance and civil stability.

So for a practical question I want to leave you with some practical advice that I once read that has helped me to think about my civic duty. First, choose your battles carefully. No state is perfect. If you refuse to live with moments of unfairness or bureaucratic hassle, you need to live by yourself on an island, and that, to me, seems hard to reconcile with Christ’s consistent preferencing of the community over the individual. Second, cooperate and support the state as far as faith will take you. Fortunately, in democratic countries (unlike Judea in Jesus’ time), we can work for peaceful change through peaceful means. There is no need to be a hermit or a rebel. Third, be wary of the radicalization of either side. Militia movements have appealed to worried Christians on the right and caused them to become more worried still. Leftist movements have attracted other Christians but consistently confused them by equating political change with spiritual growth.[1] Fourth and finally, I think we can do no better than leave the last word to Christ: “Give therefore to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s and to God the things that are God’s” (22:21)…and, remember, it all belongs to God.

[1] This advice (with modifications) and a great many other insights for this sermon are drawn from Bruce Barton et al., Matthew, Life Application Bible Commentary, ed. Grant Osborne and Philip Comfort (Wheaton, IL: Tyndale House, 1996), 432-36.

Sunday, Ocotber 15, 2023

Proper 23

Exodus 32:1-14; Psalm 106:1-6, 19-23; Philippians 4:1-9; Matthew 22:1-14

The Rev. Clint Brown

It struck me this week as I was reading the passage from Philippians, that these are Paul’s last words. We know that because this is Paul’s last letter, written while in prison in Rome, and we know that he won’t get out of Rome alive. He will not have a chance to write another letter, and so this is his valediction, the last things he has to say to us.

With that in mind and out of curiosity, I made this week a survey of other “famous last words” spoken through history. I found both the profound and the mundane and everything in between. Churchill, who is always quotable, is reported to have said, “I’m so bored with it all,” before slipping into a final coma. You’ll remember that Nathan Hale, the great patriot, before being hanged by the British for espionage, famously opined, “I regret that I have but one life to lose for my country.” In the Christian tradition, Macrina, the beautiful and brilliant sister of St. Gregory of Nyssa, modeled an equal courage. Dying of a wasting illness, she yet prayed in faith, testifying in her final words, “Thou, O Lord, hast freed us from the fear of death. Thou hast made the end of this life the beginning to us of true life.” The great Socrates has left us not one, but two “last words.” After being sentenced to death, he bid farewell to those who had condemned him by saying, “Now it is time that we were going, I to die and you to live, but which of us has the happier prospect is unknown to anyone but God.” And then, a month later, after calmly swallowing the fatal draught of hemlock, he showed his great humanity by recalling a last bit of unfinished business – “Crito, we ought to offer a rooster to Asclepius. See to it, and don’t forget” – then closing his eyes for the last time.

There are other telling examples. One can rise to the noble heights of a Lord Nelson – “Thank God I have done my duty” – or the good humor of Oscar Wilde – “My wallpaper and I are fighting a duel to the death. One or the other of us has to go.” One’s last words can begin a mystery, as in “Why didn’t they ask Evans?” the dying words of a man on a beach that launches the Agatha Christie story of the same name. Thomas Jefferson and John Adams, the founding fathers who were sometime antagonists, but, finally, fast friends, have the eerie distinction of dying on the same day, on July 4th, no less, 50 years to the day after the signing of the Declaration of Independence. Jefferson, feeling the weight of history, came out of his troubled, feverish sleep briefly after midnight to ensure that he had made it to the anniversary. He weakly queried the attending doctor, “Is it the Fourth?” before laying back and expiring.

Returning to the history of Christianity, you may not have heard of a certain believing Roman noblewoman named Perpetua, but you should know about her last words, or rather her last act of faith. She and a group of companions met their martyr’s death in the year 203 CE, but, unfortunately, the soldier who struck Perpetua was inept and merely pierced her throat between the bones. She shrieked with pain, then, with remarkable composure, aided the man to guide the sword properly. The report of her death concludes, “Perhaps so great a woman, feared by the unclean spirit, could not have been killed unless she so willed it.” And, finally, to give a true master the last word in this litany of last words, there is the case of Groucho Marx, who, witty to the end quipped, “This is no way to live!”

What then do we find Paul saying to us when we turn to his last recorded words in Philippians? What does a man imprisoned, after years of beatings and slanders, after countless miles choking on the dust of Roman roads, following numerous bruising debates and personal betrayals, as well as a shipwreck or two along the way – all for the sake of Christ – what is the last thing such a man wants to say? Is he angry? Disappointed? Spiteful? Vengeful? Happy to finally tell off his enemies? No. He says: Stand firm. Show one another mutual support. Rejoice! Be gentle. Be non-anxious. Trust in prayer. Practice the virtues. Imitate him. The last words of Paul are a wish for us to do as he has done, to be like him, to choose the way of the cross and to do it with rejoicing.

I don’t know about you, but that sounds a lot easier said than done. Accepting life’s struggles with equanimity – taking the abuse of a harsh and resisting world and doing it with a smile on my face – these are not my ideas of fun; and yet, that is the ask. That is the road walked upon by our Lord who has preceded us. Apparently, despite all evidence to the contrary, God thinks we have what it takes to be saints, too, and that means the stakes for our life and our choices are infinitely greater than we are accustomed to imagine. We, too, have a legacy of faith to leave behind us, and so, the question becomes what, then, will be your legacy? What, then, will be your last word?

Sunday, October 1, 2023

Proper 21

Exodus 17: 1-7, Psalm 78: 1-4, 12-16; Philippians 2: 1-13; Matthew 21: 23-32

The Rev. James M.L. Grace

In the Name of God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. AMEN.

Worst sermon introduction ever – are you ready?  I have two sermons to give today.  Even worse, the first sermon is on stewardship!  Good news is that it is short.  Sermon #2 today will be on our reading from Philippians.

Sermon #1 – Stewardship (this sermon has four points): today is the kick-off of our six week stewardship campaign “Come Together.”  Jennifer Perry, this years stewardship chair, will have more to say about that in a few moments. 

1.      Our pledge goal this year is $815,000 – that’s a 5% increase over last year.  Why the increase?  As previous treasurer and Sr. Warden Greg Caudell often said, “nothing is getting cheaper.”  Here are two examples: 

• Our annual Diocesan assessment St. Andrew’s pays (that’s the money St. Andrew’s and all other parishes pay to keep the Diocese running) will be $51,550 – that is a 16% increase of 16% over what was paid last year by this parish.

• Our church property, casualty, and liability insurance premiums will increase 23% next year.  Nothing is getting cheaper!

2.      Here is the good news: As of this morning, we have received 15 pledges for next year already.  My family – we have made our pledge this year, and we have increased it by 5% for 2024

3.  I am asking each of you to prayerfully consider doing the same: increasing your pledge by 5% this year.  Some of you may be able to do more, perhaps some less.   

4.  Last year our pledge goal was $775,000.  We exceeded that goal last year, by the way, receiving $798,000 in pledges.  We know how to do hard things at St. Andrew’s.  We have demonstrated our strength and resilience year over year.  I believe we will demonstrate that yet again.   End of my stewardship sermon, now onto Philippians.

Today we hear part of a letter that the Apostle Paul wrote to a church he had founded in Phillipi, a rather small city of 10,000 people, about the size of Fort Stockton, Texas.  Paul established this church in Philippi around the year 50 CE, about twenty years after the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ.

Paul likely wrote this letter to the Philippian church some five to ten years after its founding.  If you read the first chapter of this letter, it is obvious that Paul is writing from prison, he is in jail.  Scholars aren’t sure exactly which prison Paul was writing from - was it Harris County, LA County, Rome, Ephesus?  Sadly, the data from the ankle monitor Paul wore two thousand years is a little spotty.  Ephesus (in modern day Turkey) or (my belief) Rome are the most likely places where Paul might have written Philippians. 

Wherever Paul wrote this letter from, his language is strong, direct, provocative: “Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility regard others as better than yourselves.  Let each of you look not to your own interests, but to the interests of others.  Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus.”  It should not be lost on any of us, that Paul wrote those words within a prison cell.  If it were you or me in prison, would we have the spiritual depth to be able to write the same?

Within the reading from Philippians today  Paul inserts a hymn or poem of some sort (you can see this in the part of the reading that looks like a poem).  Whether this poem or hymn was authored by Paul or someone else is – again – open to debate, though Biblical scholars do agree that Paul is not quoting Taylor Swift here. 

The words of this poem or hymn are some of the most well known by Paul and they are arguably the most influential.  In sum, these verses paint the story of Christ’s voluntary humiliation, as he “emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness…he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death – even death on a cross.”  Powerful words here.  Jesus reveals himself through his gracious action – in his refusal to exploit his divine status and instead totally emptying himself in self-humiliation and obedience to the point of death. 

It is this willingness of Jesus, this emptying of himself on our behalf, that exalts him above every other name so that at his name, and his alone, every knee should bend.  How many of us, when we pray, bend our knees, kneeling on the ground?  I’m not talking about Sundays in church.  I am talking about every other day of the week.  How often do you get on your knees?   Kneeling when you pray is humbling, and if your knees are wobbly or older, it might hurt a little.  Not necessarily a bad thing – perhaps our prayers should hurt a little.  Because pain, humiliation, and obedience are some of the ingredients that not only made Jesus and Paul holy, they will make you holy, as well.  AMEN.