Christmas Eve - What the Stable Meant

One Christmas hymn begins:  “What child is this who, laid to rest, on Mary's lap is sleeping?” Sung to a English melody called “Greensleeves, its chorus answers the question posed by the opening line.  It says, “This, this is Christ the King, whom shepherd guard and angels sing; haste, haste to bring him laud, the babe, the son of Mary.”

But there can be another way of looking at who this child is.  Perhaps you've heard the Christmas spiritual “Sweet, Little Jesus Boy.”  Its lyrics reflect how humanity somehow seems to have missed the point about Jesus.  It begins:

“Sweet little Jesus Boy
They made You be born in a manger
Sweet little Holy chil'
Didn't know who You was . . .”

The joy and clarity of the gospel narrative of Luke and of the hymn I quoted becomes muted in the recollection of the unknown author of this spiritual.  Looking at the world through the lens of the spiritual, we see a chasm between the truth about Jesus in the singer's heart and reality of disappointment, pain and loss the singer sees in himself and in the world.

“Sweet little Jesus Boy
De worl' treat You mean, Lawd
Treat me mean too
But please, Sir, forgive us Lawd
We didn't know 'twas You
***
Sweet little Jesus Boy
Bawn long time ago
Sweet little Holy chil'
An' we didn't know who You was.”

We love the story of Jesus' birth—especially the narrative from Luke.  We have created all kinds of nativity scenes based on Luke’s narratives—live ones, elaborate ones, unusual ones.  And we understand the drama: “no room at the inn,” a sweet young mother giving birth and then pondering what she hears said about her child, Joseph hovering protectively over mother and child, the amazed shepherds, and the glorious angelic host.  In fact this week I was asked a question that drew me away from the theology of Incarnation and back into Luke's wonderful story.  That question was, “Who helped Mary give birth?”

Mary's experience of giving birth was not a mystery, as Jesus' conception was.  Giving birth can be a frightening experience, especially for a first time mother.  Could Mary have wondered whether Gabriel's message had misled her?  How could she give birth to the Son of the Most High in these dreadful conditions—and with no one to assist her—no midwife?  Such details were of no interest to Luke, but we can imagine that others were in that stable as well, also forced out by the overcrowding of the inn.  Perhaps among the strangers in the stable there was a woman who had given birth herself, had helped others, and now helped Mary.  We have a hint that there may have been others around, because Luke reports, “. . . all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds told them.”

So Luke's story recounts both the story of a very human birth—without all the details we might want—and glory of the divine as the angels' proclaimed the wonderful “good news of great joy to all people.”  First, the shepherds and, then, all those in stable heard about the birth of God's Messiah: “. . . to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord.”

How could we not know who Jesus was??  How could we have heard this message and not have our lives changed? Why aren’t we ready to tell everyone that the prophetic words of Isaiah have come to pass?  “See, your salvation comes!”  The barrier of sin that separates us from the mercy, justice, and peace of God has been overcome in the birth of this particular child!

And yet, although we sing that we will bring laud to Jesus, that we will praise him as our Lord, we seem to forget what we have seen year after year at Christmas.  We forget what we have come to understand about the reign of Jesus Christ.  His reign began with his birth, mostly hidden now, but at the end of time he will reign fully revealed. We forget, of course, because that's how life is.  Our daily tasks consume us with their mundane details.

The poet W. H. Auden speaks about this near the end of his epic poem, A Christmas Oratorio:  “As in previous years we have seen the actual Vision and failed / To do more than entertain it as an agreeable / Possibility, once again we have sent him [Jesus] away . . .”  Auden suggests, though, that we continue to long for a return to the moment when the barrier of our sin, which separates us from God and from each other, breaks down.  Auden wrote about this moment, too: “Remembering the stable where for once in our lives / Everything became a You and nothing was an It.” At this moment God's time (kairos) breaks into our time (chronos)—and we understand.

So for Auden—and perhaps for us tonight—the Christmas hymns, the candlelight, the nativity scene, Holy Communion—our whole experience of Christmas tonight—recreates Eden, if only briefly.  We are at peace with each other and with God.  In this moment we do know who Jesus was and who Jesus is, how he came from God to live and die as one of us, how he came to redeem our lives from the power of sin and death!  We know the reign of Christ has begun—hidden now; already here, but not yet fully revealed—beginning in a humble stable and ending in the promised new heaven and new earth!  Look at the stable here—depicting Jesus' as an infant whose vulnerability is ours, too—and know—KNOW—that God longs to be at one with us—with each of us—with all of us—drawing us into a relationship of love.  And despite the brokenness of our lives, tonight our hearts respond, “Yes!”

The 4th Sunday of Advent - How Can This Be?

How do you see the angel Gabriel and the young Mary in your mind's eye?  Focus on Mary's face. Some of us might see her face, expressing acceptance of the angelic message.  Some of us might see her puzzling over Gabriel's amazing pronouncement.  She might be staring at the angel with fear—because scripture usually depicts God's messengers as needing to reassure us with the words, “Fear not!”

And, then, Gabriel drops the bombshell: God favors you, and you will conceive and bear a son. What???? Several years ago, someone spray-painted what they considered anti-Christian graffiti on the outside wall in back of me.  One part of the graffiti, in very tall letters, said, “Mary was a slut.” The parishioner who called me about it wryly observed, “Well, that's old news.” 

Old news indeed—and I am sure Mary, at first, thought the angelic announcement was neither what she expected nor wanted to hear—receiving an angelic message would be “unexpected”; hearing that you are pregnant outside marriage which could result—at best—in your being rejected by the man who is to marry you would be “unwanted!”  Mary responded to this unexpected and unwanted message with these words, “How can this be?”

Although most of us will never receive an angelic message, we all have received sometimes unexpected and certainly unwanted news.  “Our company doesn't have enough contracts, so we are cutting your hours.”  “Our factory is closing, and you will no longer have job.”  “You have cancer.”  “Your father and I are divorcing.”  “There was a bad accident and your son, daughter, wife, husband—you fill in the name—was killed.  I am sorry for your loss.”  “You are having a miscarriage.”

“How can this be?”  In our minds and hearts we recoil from the bad news.  We may get angry.  We may become despondent.  We may deny the reality of the situation.

“How can this be?”  I don't deserve the suffering I see in my future.  Or I ache as I witness the suffering of my loved one—or the pain of a friend.

Mary said, “How can this be, since I am a virgin?”  Depending on the tone used in reading these poignant words of Mary, she can be seen as an innocent who wonders how in the world this illogical state of affairs can be.  Or she may be crying out in anguish at the unfairness and the grave position in which she finds herself.

Most paintings of this event, called “The Annunciation,” depict Mary accepting this news with composure, looking saintly, accepting with serenity the situation the angel announces.  Really??  How can this be??

I suspect the artists and even the gospel writer, Luke, are viewing this moment with 20/20 hindsight.  They depict Mary as accepting Gabriel's explanation of God's will for her very quickly. I have a hard time accepting the quickness of her submission, “Here I am the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.”  To have this make more sense, some theologians have speculated that Mary, like Jesus, was born without a sinful nature and was assumed into heaven rather than dying.  These opinions undercut the power of the Incarnation—God coming to us in Jesus—born of a human mother—being fully human as well as fully divine.

So fully human Mary—perhaps with some anguish, with some anxiety and with some fear—asks the angel: “How can this be?”  Isn't that a much more helpful model for us?  Mary questions with the same authenticity of spirit by which we can approach God:  I have tried to live a decent life—even a good life—so, “How can this be?”

We may take that question to prayer; we may cry it out in the dark night of our grief and fear; we may weep it in pain and in anger.  But it is a valid question: “How can this be?”  As with Gabriel's theological explanation of incarnation to Mary's question, we may receive explanations from physicians, economists, psychologists or other professionals about the process that has led to our distress.  But we long for a reason that transcends logic, which will lead us to understanding how God acts in our world and in our lives today.

Each scripture we heard today approaches an answer to that question.  In the story from II Samuel, we see God—through the prophet, Nathan—telling King David, to remember how God was with the Israelites through their journey in the desert and since.  That relationship, not a house of cedar, is God's dwelling place.  That relationship will be a dwelling place—a house—a place of spiritual safety—for God's people as well.

The passage we heard from the end of Paul's letter to the Romans declares that God's relationship with us will strengthen us in our faith, because that relationship has been revealed through Jesus Christ.

And the gospel passage from Luke also offers insight.  Early in his announcement to Mary, the angel Gabriel utters these words, “The Lord is with you.”  Yes, both at the time of hearing Gabriel's news and throughout her life of living into that news, Mary can be confident that she will never be separated from the love of God.  This love entered her first and then entered the world through Jesus.  God's love remains in the world and can be ours when we open our hearts to receive it.

Yes, no matter what life calls us to face, we can be confident that the Lord is with us.  God will shelter us and strengthen us.  We may haltingly at first—but then strengthened in our faith as we come to know God's presence with us—say with Mary, “Let it be . . . according to your word.”—not passive submission, but active acceptance of God's love as a source of strength whenever we need it.

Although he may have been writing from an entirely secular point of view, that mid-20^th century “theologian” Paul McCartney wonderfully describes how Mary's example can be our guide:

“When I find myself in times of trouble

Mother Mary comes to me

Speaking words of wisdom, let it be.

And in my hour of darkness

She is standing right in front of me

Speaking words of wisdom, let it be.

Let it be, let it be.

Whisper words of wisdom, let it be.

And when the broken hearted people

Living in the world agree,

There will be an answer, let it be.

For though they may be parted there is

Still a chance that they will see

There will be an answer, let it be.

Let it be, let it be. Yeah

There will be an answer, let it be.

And when the night is cloudy,

There is still a light that shines on me,

Shine on until tomorrow, let it be.

I wake up to the sound of music

Mother Mary comes to me

Speaking words of wisdom, let it be.

Let it be, let it be.

There will be an answer, let it be.

Let it be, let it be,

Whisper words of wisdom, let it be.”

The 1st Sunday of Advent - Awake? Prepared??

Live as if this is the last day of your life.  We've all heard this bit of advice—probably in a sermon even.  Last year we saw billboards declaring the end of the world and advising us to prepare for it.  A few years ago this way of living informed a film called “The Bucket List.”   Two terminally ill characters, played by Morgan Freeman and Jack Nicholson, had a “bucket list”—things to do before they “kicked the bucket.”  So they decided to take a road trip and see how far they could get down the list.

I do engage in some magical—and not very biblical—thinking about the last day of my life and the end of the world.  I imagine that if I have enough unfinished tasks, I'll fool God into thinking it's not time for Elizabeth just now.  So my poor housekeeping skills could be looked at as an insurance policy, couldn't they?  Or perhaps I will make a bucket list of such improbable things—like celebrating Eucharist in an award winning embroidered silk chasuble by the Gaspard company priced at several thousand dollars—that my exit from this life will be long delayed.  Or on a more serious note—and rather unbiblical as well—I may think, “What does it matter?”  God knows all my weaknesses and areas of sin already.  No amount of busy-ness will cover up my failings.  I know I can't hide. There is no use thinking I can get away with “looking busy, because Jesus is coming.”

In his book, Love Wins, Rob Bell notes that some Christians say we should face the fact of our mortality with this terse phrase: “Turn or Burn.”  In other word, in face of the uncertainty about how much time one has left in this life, one must repent of sins without delay or face the fires of hell for eternity.  Rob Bell advocates a different way of thinking about our last days.  He believes that God—in the end—approaches humanity's failings with as much mercy as judgment.

Our readings this morning, the first Sunday of Advent do not engage in magical thinking or in fear-mongering.  Rather they contain valuable thoughts about how we are to live now—not worrying whether it is our last day on earth or not.

Today marks the beginning of the new church year.  On the first Sunday of Advent we begin our time of preparation as we long for the arrival of God in Jesus.  Our readings help us focus on what it means to be awake and prepared for God's appearing—in our lives and in the life of St. Nicholas, of Newark, of Delaware, of our country and of the world.

First, we need to remember that as members of the human family, we are God's people.  Isaiah put it poetically, “Yet, O Lord . . . we are the clay, and you are our potter; we all are the work of your hand . . . Now consider, we are all your people.”  In this prophetic prayer Isaiah was speaking to both God and the people who had returned from captivity in Babylon to find Jerusalem and the Temple in ruins.    He was reminding them of the long lasting relationship between them—a covenant relationship—no matter how dire the situation seemed at the moment.  We understand this relationship as being ours as well.

So, after recognizing ourselves as God's people, we need to trust that God will be faithful.  The psalmist wrote this refrain declaring God's faithfulness:  “Restore us, O God of hosts; show us the light of your countenance and we shall be saved.”  In speaking about the spiritual gift of God's grace to the Corinthian church, St. Paul wrote that the members of the church were strengthened by this grace for all that lay ahead of them, which could include persecution. Then he stated this directly: “God is faithful; by him you were called into the fellowship of his Son, Jesus Christ our Lord.”  God's faithfulness isn't a promise to take away our difficulties in life.  

God's faithfulness means that we will be not be abandoned.  We will be upheld and supported by God's love—the love we know through the life of Jesus Christ.  We will be strengthened, as well, by God's eternal words.  In the gospel passage from Mark we heard this morning Jesus assures his disciples:  “Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will not pass away.”

While the context in which the gospel of Mark was written—the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem by the soldiers of the  Romans occupation—is quite different than our own, we, too, face difficulties that cause us to wonder whether we have been abandoned by God.  In the passage we heard Jesus tell of an apocalypse in which God will rescue those who trust in God and gather them in safety.  We are told not to wonder when this will happen, but be ready for it.  

As modern people we are tempted to dismiss this description for we know of terrible tragedies, caused by human beings and by natural forces—but the end of time has not come.  If this passage is to hold meaning for us, we must look deeper than a literal interpretation.  I would argue that Jesus wants us to look deeper because he ended this apocalyptic prophecy with a parable.  Jesus always uses parables to bring us up short and challenge us to think more deeply.

The end of time will come—but is not yet—because it is like when the master has gone on a journey of unknown length.  In the world of the parable the servants must not only care for the property, but be ready for the master to hold them accountable for their care-taking of his property.  Being held accountable might well seem like “the powers of heaven being shaken.”  These servants need to be prepared for such an accounting.

In the “meantime” we human beings, as did the servants in the parable, find ourselves with work to do, caring for the earth and its inhabitants.  The absence of the master in the parable could be identified as our free will. We have the freedom to choose to do our work or not.  We have the freedom to choose how we do our work.  But humanity will find itself accountable for discerning God's will and for watching for God's presence.  Neither are easy tasks.

But now we have Advent: a time to wait and to watch and to ponder where and how God's will reveal God's self in our lives.  Advent becomes the perfect time to practice living as if this is our last day. When we live today as if it is our last day, we will search for God’s presence more intentionally in each situation and in each person we encounter.  Our behavior may change, or it may not; but our hearts will change, finding themselves more open and more compassionate to other people and to the world around us.  Indeed, this is how we must keep awake; this is how we must prepare ourselves for our Master's return.

The Reign of Christ - God's Creative Genius

On November 12 in the Washington National Cathedral a new bishop was consecrated, Mariann Budde, a slightly built woman with a gentle face.  As she stood with her husband and two young adult sons, she looked exactly like someone you'd enjoy going out for coffee with.  And, except for the festive vestments, not an Episcopal bishop!  The next day, Sunday, November 13, she preached her first sermon at the cathedral.  The cathedral's website archives videos of the sermons preached there. I suggest you set aside twenty-five minutes to watch her sermon.

She spoke about her experience of God's call to her.  When she was a young woman, she had questioned whether she had the potential and ability to do something meaningful with her life.  Someone she trusted gently confronted her with these words, “You are the unique expression of God's creative genius.” And then her friend suggested that Mariann stop doubting herself and get to work on what she believe God was calling her to do.

What I believe happened in Bishop Mariann's life can be seen in our epistle and gospel readings this morning—if one is set against the other.  St. Paul's letter to the Ephesians describes the gift that God's creative genius bestows on each of us.  Paul calls it “a spirit of wisdom and revelation.” He prays that all the people in the church at Ephesus receive this gift from God.  This spirit of wisdom and revelation isn't something that will set them on some sort of spiritual pedestal.  Rather this spirit will help them to see more clearly with “the eyes of their heart.”  These eyes are to behold the God's call to us—our hope in God's coming kingdom, our understanding that what God offers us outshines all that the world might promise us, and our taking comfort in God's great power in our lives—that we are not alone as we confront life's difficulties, that we can be at peace with ourselves and with other people.  All this comes to us through Christ who was, is and always will be the most perfect example of God's creative genius.

If the “eyes of our heart” are watching for Christ as we try to live in this “spirit of wisdom and revelation,” what will we see?  This morning's gospel reading from Matthew offers one answer.  We will see opportunities for service: “for I was hungry, you gave me food, I was thirsty you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.”

When we hear this passage, we may wonder if Matthew's theology represents a point of view called “works righteousness.”  “Works righteousness” claims that by doing certain holy or righteous actions you can earn salvation.  It claims that in the age to come, we will be judged only by what we have done or failed to do.  Protestant reformers of the sixteenth century spoke out against this, because the church had carried this point of view to its corrupt extreme.  By paying for masses to be said in the name of your departed loved one, you helped them out:  sins committed in life, but not absolved, could be expiated after death—and your loved ones’ time in purgatory shortened. Salvation had become a commodity to be bought and sold.

I believe we should look at this gospel passage in a different way.  What Matthew tells us by reporting this story about sheep and goats, about those who respond to those in need and those who don't, is this:  salvation, eternal life in the presence of God's love, comes as a natural consequence when we compassionately respond to the pain and suffering in our world—just as Jesus responded to them.  Jesus defined the life of service he lived, and expected his followers to live, when he said: “ . . . just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.”

In my previous life I became a special educator, because I was drawn to figure out how to teach children with learning disorders—especially language disorders.  To figure out what challenges a certain learning task presented for a student and then how to restructure the task so learning could occur—this fascinated me.  Then I encountered children who had emotional difficulties along with their learning disabilities.  Thus a new challenge presented itself: how can I help them to learn to handle their overwhelming emotions so learning can occur?  It wasn't until well into my career that my thinking about my work changed, when someone convinced me that I had a vocation—not just a career.  I then understood that how skillfully and compassionately we educate those who have difficulty with learning determines what sort of educators we are.  We educators should be judged by a standard of compassion—as well as by whatever achievement standards society demands.  As a result of seeing my work with the eyes of my heart, I began to advocate for my students in a new way:  modify instruction—yes; teach compensatory skills—yes; but also see students with difficulties as a worthy people—worthy of our skillful and compassionate educational efforts—our very best!

But sometimes we fall short in “seeing with the eyes of our hearts;” we miss the mark and fail to realize that the people with whom we live and work—and even our neighbors all over the world—are “unique expressions of God's creative genius.”  Sometimes we ignore people and their needs in our haste to deal with the preoccupations that crowd our lives.

Bishop Mariann spoke about the passages we have heard over the past several weeks in which Jesus declares harsh judgment:  the foolish bridesmaids who had not brought enough oil were shut out of the banquet, the hypocritical religious authorities who demanded the best seats in the synagogue and at banquets will be last in God's kingdom, and the servant who angered his master by burying the talent he had been given was cast out.  Despite Jesus' making apparent overstatements or using hyperbole, these parables still were severe warnings for Jesus' listeners—and for us as well.  Bishop Mariann suggested that these warnings help us remember our need to examine our behavior. 

When we ponder today’s reading from Matthew 25, we should think:  Are we responding to others with the compassion and love Jesus would show them?  And when we haven’t—when we ignore those people who need our attention and assistance—and of course at times we will, do we then recognize our need for God's forgiveness?  Do we accept, too, our need for God's grace to turn away from our sinfulness and begin anew?  This, indeed, is the hope to which we have been called; this, indeed, is our glorious inheritance with the saints; this, indeed, is the power of God for each of us—that God will never give up on anyone!  For everyone—each one of us—is a unique expression of God's creative genius.  

A Special Time - Jacob's Baptism

Jacob's grandmother is the pastor of St. Nicholas' - - -

Baptism of Jacob Bailey Kahl – November 6, 2011

at Sherwood Episcopal Church, Cockeysville, MD

Joshua 24: 1-3a, 14-25

            Of the three scripture readings we heard this morning, the one that most closely relates to what we will experience this morning is the reading from Joshua.  “How can that be?” you may ask.  That’s ancient history!  He’s stirring up the people to be ready for the conquest of Canaan.  He’s being a charismatic leader in a time of war.  Remember that spiritual:  “Josha fit the battle of Jericho . . . and the walls came a’ tumblin’ down.”  How in the world can that be related to baptism?”

            If you look at it from that point of view, there isn’t much relationship, but let’s look at it another way.  Joshua is calling the people to repent and turn back to God.  They have found attractive idols, gods of other peoples, in whom they have put their trust, to whom they have prayed.  Just hedging their bets, of course.  Nothing personal . . . probably they think that praying not only to the God of Abraham, but all these other ones, too, will just increase their chances for success.  Is that such a problem?

            Joshua told them that the God of Abraham would not accept divided loyalty.  God expected those who believed in him would worship nothing and no one else.  It is, of course, a covenant relationship between God and God’s people that Joshua challenges the Israelites to keep.  Covenants are a special type of relationship.  People agree to follow a leader, and the leader agrees to provide for the people.  The covenants in the Bible each have a special sign:  God with Abraham—many descendants; God with Noah—the rainbow; God with Moses and the Israelites—the Ten Commandments.

            Our prayerbook has this heading on page 304: “The Baptismal Covenant.”  Our Baptismal Covenant contains two parts:  the Apostle’s Creed, a statement of faith in the form of questions and answers, and five promises that describe how a Christian should live, also phrased as questions.  In a few moments Christina’s and Jacob’s parents, godparents and all of you worshipping here today will say the Apostle’s Creed and respond that you will keep these promises “with God’s help.”  This renewal of our Baptismal Covenant means we are promising once again to trust God and to live a life that we believe God desires.  The sign for baptism is water.  The sign for Holy Spirit’s sealing the person as Christ’s own forever and becoming active in the newly baptized person’s life is the Oil of Chrism.

            What’s happening here? There are several ways to think about it:  being adopted into the body of Christ; being made a saint; participating with Christ in his death and being raised with him; having sins washed away and new life in Christ begin.  The one that works best for infants and children is the idea of adoption into the body of Christ.  God has loved Christina and Jacob from their very first moments.  We acknowledge God’s loving grace in their lives in the sacrament of baptism—an outward sign of an inward and spiritual grace.  It is the start of their lifelong journeys in God’s grace—guided in the beginning by loving parents, godparents, grandparents and many other relatives and friends—guided also by the priest and members of the parish where Christina and Jacob and their families worship.

            I want to share a story with you about how this happened for one child.  It comes from a book called Godparenting: Nurturing the Next Generation by Nancy Ann McLaughlin and Tracey Herzer.  The story was told by an Episcopal priest named Debra Kissinger:  “When I was the vicar of a small church in Connecticut, there was a three-year-old boy, Jeffrey, who came to the altar rail week after week with his mother . . . Jeffrey’s mother was reluctant to allow him to receive the sacrament ‘until he was old enough to understand.’  Week after week, the little boy would extend his hands to receive, and week after week his mother would pull his hands back to his chest with a thump.  But one Sunday Jeffrey was not to be denied.  He extended his hands.  His mother pulled them back. Not once but three times . . . And then it happened:  Jeffrey yelled at the top of his lungs, ‘Jesus, Jesus! I want Jesus, too!  Give me Jesus!’ and thrust his hands forward again to receive the host.

            You could have heard a pin drop.  The [Holy] Spirit silently danced through the church.  I looked at Jeffrey’s mom, both our eyes brimming with tears.  She nodded her consent.  I barely choked out the words: ‘The Body of Christ’ as Jeffrey took Jesus into his hands and pronounced a loud ‘Amen!’ for all to hear . . . Jeffrey knelt in awe before Jesus that day, and we were each filled with awe as we searched our own hearts and shared his experience.”

            What had happened?  Jeffrey had been adopted into the Body of Christ through baptism.  He had listened and observed what had been going on around him in a particular incarnation of Christ’s Body, that parish in Connecticut.  He had learned to want Jesus—and he was not to be denied the sacrament all the others were receiving at that parish every Sunday.  That’s how God’s grace should work! Amen!  Alleluia!

            Mother Debra noted that the Holy Spirit was dancing that day in the church.  “Dancing” is an interesting way to describe how God acts in our lives when we participate in Christian community as adopted brothers and sisters of the Risen Christ.  The Godparenting book suggests a way we can demonstrate how the Holy Spirit works in our lives, and I’d like to share that with you now.  [Ask the children in the congregation to come forward.] Sometimes the Holy Spirit is described in the Bible as wind or breath.  You can’t see breath unless it moves something.  Today I will blow bubbles (which are full of breath) to show how the Holy Spirit, the breath of God, can come into our lives.  [Blow enough bubbles for every child to touch them.]  You can touch them.  You can reach out to the Holy Spirit who will help you soar—like the bubbles in the wind.  You can soar and grow into the people God has made you to be.

           

                                                                        

All Saints Day

This was preached at a joint service with St. Thomas, Good Shepherd and St. Nicholas Episcopal Churches on the evening of November 1 at St. Thomas's:

Perhaps the most effective sermon for All Saints' Day in the nave at St. Thomas’s would take this form:  I would ask you to look at the Pilgrimage Windows on your left.  Then in a slow and meditative way I would read each name with a sentence to explain the person's place in the procession of witnesses to God's redeeming love.  Then every so often, at the end of each bay of lancets, I would repeat this phrase from a popular hymn for All Saints' Day:  “. . . they were all of them saints of God and I mean, God helping, to be one too.”  And at the end change the phrase to: “. . . may God help us all to be saints, too.”  Well, that isn't the one I'm going to preach, but will you invite me back again to preach that sermon?

Tonight, however, I want to hold up two views of sainthood. These two views offer us a sense of tension—creative tension, I believe, but tension nevertheless.  These views can be characterized by two recently published books:  Heaven is for Real by Todd Burpo and Love Wins:  A Book about Heaven, Hell, and the Fate of Every Person who Ever Lived by Rob Bell.

Is heaven a wonderful place full of those we love but see no longer and ancestors we have only heard about?  Will we become saints after our death and be in the presence of God the Father, sitting on his throne, and Jesus at his right hand?   Is heaven a place where we hope to find our saintly selves after we have lived a faithful life, following Jesus? 

Todd Burpo, a pastor Nebraska, had four-year-old son, Colton, who nearly died from a burst appendix. Colton experienced very specific visions during his surgery: of his doctor operating on him directed by Jesus, of his family at the hospital, and of heaven.  Todd Burpo claims that Colton's trip to heaven should comfort us, because the specific details he offered, without prompting, assures us how wonderful heaven is.  He gave descriptions of family members he encountered that, according to his father, he could not have known.  He reported things about God, the Father, and Jesus, that he had never been taught in Sunday School, but which can be found in the Bible.

The Book of Revelation, composed of visions by John of Patmos, has something in common with Todd Burpo's book.  John also sought to provide comfort to Christians about their lives after death.  In particular, he offered comfort to those who were suffering persecution, including torture and death, for refusing to recant their belief that “Jesus Christ is Lord.”  John of Patmos’s visions depicted triumphant glory for those who have endured a great ordeal and still clung to their faith in Jesus.  The beauty and majestic nature of heaven cannot be equaled by anything on earth.

The last three verses of Hymn 286 poetically depicts this view of heaven as glory gained after a difficult, but faithful life:

These are they who have contended for their Savior's honor long, wrestling on till life was ended, following not the sinful throng; these who well the fight sustained, triumphant by the Lamb have gained.

These are they whose hearts were riven, sore with woe and anguish tried, who in prayer full oft have striven, with the God they glorified; now their painful conflict oe'r, God has bid them weep no more.

These, like priests, have watched and waited, offering up to Christ their will, soul and body consecrated, day and night they serve him still. Now in God's most holy place, blest they stand before his face.

All that causes us to suffer in our earthly life—and our faithful response despite that suffering—prepares us for what will take place after we die—dwelling forever in God's holy place.

In Love Wins Rob Bell, on the other hand, emphasizes our part in hastening the coming of God's reign on earth.  The chapter in which he describes his thoughts about heaven he entitled, “Here is the New There.”  Heaven is the new age—the age to come—right here on earth.  This is how Rob Bell describes it:  “Justice and mercy hold hands, they kiss, they belong together in the age to come, an age that is complex, earthy, participatory and free from all death, destruction and despair.”  

Later in the chapter he declares: “Eternal life doesn't start when we die; it starts now.  It's not about a life that begins at death; it's about experiencing the kind of life now that can endure and survive even death . . . [Jesus] insisted over and over that God's peace, joy and love are currently available to us, exactly as we are.”  “Available,” of course, means we may choose to open ourselves to God’s peace, joy and love—or we may not.  Our comfort can come from our awareness of this availability—which God has promised never to withdraw.  The Beatitudes we heard read tonight from the Gospel of Matthew also describe a life lived in anticipation of the coming of God’s holy reign now and in the age to come.

Those who have taken this always-available choice populate the Pilgrimage Windows.  Indeed they are among the great cloud of witnesses who have accepted throughout the ages this always-available choice.  They are the saints described in Hymn 293: I sing a song of the saints of God, patient and brave and true who toiled and fought and lived and died for the Lord they love and knew.

Sometimes baptism is described as making a new saint.  In this view sainthood is not reserved for spiritual Olympians, but for ordinary folk.  To quote from Hymn 293 again:  . . .for the saints of God are just folk like me, and I mean to be one too.

So now what are our choices?  To believe that an amazingly wonderful heaven waits for faithful saints at a later time and in another place?  To believe that heaven can be experienced here and now—or at least the opportunity for heaven starts here and now, haltingly present, already and not yet, for those who freely chose to respond to God's love?  But as a confirmed Anglican, I don't like to make choices—rather, I would like to choose both!  To put it another way—let us have faith in a just and merciful God who created us, who loves us and who longs for us to act lovingly in return—details to follow!

The 20th Sunday after Pentecost - Servant or Leader or Both?

We have an expression that describes Jesus' critique of the scribes and the Pharisees:  They don't walk the talk.  They make such a convenient target, don't they?  Jesus appears to be challenging their all-to-visible pride. He accuses them of excessive focus on the respect they should receive, while forgetting their true duties to those who look to them for spiritual leadership.  Rather their leadership concerns itself with status and power.  Jesus, on the other hand, taught his disciples the value of humility.

But aren't these religious leaders following a path that most would have expected them to tread?  Their duty was to obey God's teaching through the law.  Correct practice—not popularity—seemed to be their goal.  And nowhere do we hear these leaders critiqued because they failed to follow the Torah.

What we hear Jesus saying about these leaders concerns the context of their leadership.  They are following the Law, yes—but without considering how the people without their privileges are managing.

Jesus uses incisive images to describe what's wrong with these religious leaders.  These images demonstrate both the scribes' and Pharisees' pride and their lack of concern for the people who were less fortunate:  the broad phylacteries (leather case worn on the forehead), the long fringes on their shawls, the places of honor at a banquet, the best seats in the synagogue, respectful greetings in the market place, and being called “rabbi.”

At least part of Jesus' appeal to ordinary people was his lack of pretension.  He did not depend on such outward signs of personal status as the religious leaders showed.  At the end of the reading from Matthew's gospel we just heard Jesus summarizes his teaching by noting that the exalted would be humbled and the humble would be exalted.  Given how our world appears to be working these days, one might pray, “When, O Lord, when?  And by the way, Lord, please remember I am one of the humble!”

The deep issue this passages raises isn't the fact that our leaders have certain titles or certain seats assigned in the worship assembly—or even that folks defer to them in the line waiting for food at the covered dish dinner.  The deep issue is the nature of our leadership within the context of our community—whether that community is the parish, the diocese, The Episcopal Church, or the world-wide Anglican Communion.  Jesus taught that authentic religious leadership shows humility as a prime characteristic.  And that humility shows itself by our placing God at the center of our lives in a religious community:  all teaching, all compassionate care, all mercy, all worship—all these marks of our life together must be Christ-centered.

This sort of leadership has been called servant leadership, the placing the needs of others or of the community first.  Some have called it cross-shaped leadership—recalling Jesus' sacrificial love in choosing the cross.  With this style of leadership one must be willing to give up control so that the Holy Spirit may inspire us and redeem whatever damage needs repair.

In 2008 Alban Institute published a book entitled “Cross-shaped Leadership” by a Lutheran pastor, John Berntsen.  Berntsen offered much wise advice about how to exercise servant leadership.  But my favorite chapter, the final one, addressed the humor in using this sort of leadership style.  A cartoon from that chapter shows two couples at a Bible study—open Bibles in their laps.  A woman speaks to the others: “Well, I haven't actually died to sin, but I did feel kind of faint once.”

Whether it is called cross-shaped leadership, servant leadership or just plain humility, this style of leadership involves cultivating that fainting feeling regarding the sins of pride, prestige-seeking and perfectionism.  And I speak from personal experience here, to die—or even to faint—to my pride, my prestige-seeking or my perfectionism is never easy!

When one is asked to be a leader in a church community—whether clergy or lay—one is asked to undertake work by folks who expect the work to be well done and who expect positive results from that work.  But a church community shouldn't function as a business with a bottom line.  A church community should function as a place where relationships with each other and with the divine find a safe environment with spiritually fertile ground.  Whatever the community can accomplish must grow from that matrix of safety and spiritual fertility.  And the servant leader's job must be to protect the community's safety and till its spiritually fertile soil.  Being on one's knees and getting one's hands dirty cannot—and should not—be avoided!

So Jesus' command not to call others in the community of disciples by the certain titles has been for the most part ignored.  Our particular flavor of Christianity has used the title “Father” regularly in the modern times to distinguish clergy—although the ordination of women as priests has changed this somewhat.  Yet, what titles we give our leaders is only a surface issue.  How we choose to order our community is not.  It deeply affects the gospel message we carry.  Are we a people where God's love manifests itself in our compassion for each other and in our forgiving one another?  Are we a people who seek to serve others, even when they may, at times, be prickly or ungrateful?  What truly, deeply matters is what Jesus taught: “The greatest among you will be your servant.”  And through his life and his death on the cross, he provided us the clearest, most complete example of strong, servant leadership.  How are we measuring up? 

The 19th Sunday after Pentecost - A View of Christian Vocation

The apostle Paul wrote this to the Thessalonians: “ . . .just as we have been approved by God to be entrusted with the message of the gospel, even so we speak, not to please mortals, but to please God who tests our hearts.”

St. Paul understood his vocation as spreading the meaning of Jesus' live, death and resurrection to Gentiles. In his letters he sought to deal with the issues of living out one's faith in the earliest Christian communities around the Mediterranean.  In the passage from his first letter to the church at Thessalonica, Paul describes how he had been—and would be—proclaiming the good news that God became one of us.  God did this to teach us how we are to live in a right relationship with God.  God also became human and died for us to cover our sins in the sight of God.  Indeed. Jesus became our Savior and Redeemer.

If we are to follow Paul's example as a proclaimer of the good news of God in Christ, then knowing how he understood his vocation may help us understand ours. I think we can take apart the phrase I quoted at the beginning of my sermon in order to figure this out.

First, Paul believed he was “approved by God.”  I am reminded of a statement made by the Scottish runner, Eric Liddel, in the movie, “Chariots of Fire.”  He was discussing with his sister his delay in beginning missionary work in China.  His sister wanted him to stop wasting time training for the Olympics.  Eric replied that God had made him “fast,”  and  that “when I run, I feel His pleasure.”  God “approves” of us when we use the gifts God gave us as fully as we are able for love of both God and neighbor. What gift or gifts has God given you?  Have you felt God's pleasure when you were using these gifts? 

Next, Paul was “entrusted” by God.  We have a phrase on our currency—in God we trust.  But how often do we think about God's trusting us?  How else would the work of Christ in the world get accomplished, except through human beings?  God does allow us the power to choose to follow Jesus Christ or not.  But if we choose to follow, then God trusts us, as he did Paul, to be Christ's heart, hands and feet in the world.  God depends on us to accomplish whatever we can to make a more just and peaceful world—with God's support, of course.  How have you experienced God's trust in you?

Then Paul calls what he is entrusted with, “the message of the gospel.”  The message of the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus has power.  This message accomplishes what it describes: how sinners are saved from the power of sin and death and how new, resurrected life begins.  This message proclaims salvation and new life for individuals, yes; but also and, perhaps more importantly, for Christian communities. The German theologian, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, a pastor and theologian martyred by the Nazi regime, described how thoughtful living in Christian community can help us develop needed virtues, including humility, patience, and forgiving others.  How have you experienced the message of the gospel of Jesus Christ, especially in our parish community?

Next, Paul refers to his particular mode of evangelism:  “and so we speak.”  Paul's gift for rhetoric and poetic speech comes through very clearly in the letters he wrote to the churches.  Some of us have this gift as well.  But I am also reminded of St. Francis' command for Christians to preach the gospel, but to use words only if one has to.  So how are we speaking or acting out the message of God's loving-kindness to all?

Then Paul qualifies his style of evangelism as “not to please mortals, but to please God.”  Here Paul is claiming an ethical standard that all us should find helpful.  Of course, what a person may define as “pleasing God” may not, in fact, please God.  But through prayerful discernment with the exercise of appropriate humility, we may venture to say what we understand as “pleasing God.”  How does each of us consider whether a choice we are about to make pleases or does not please God?  How do we do this as a Christian community?

Finally, Paul concludes his sentence with the phrase describing God as one who “tests our hearts.”  This testing helps us to remain authentic and faithful, being true to the person God created us to be, while never forgetting the responsibility God has entrusted to each of us.  Yes, there is grace freely offered by God.  But as Jesus told the Pharisees, God asks us to meet these standards:  loving God with all that we have and all that we are and of loving our neighbors as we love ourselves.  That's the paradox of God's testing of our hearts:  we are both judged as sinners for our inability as human beings always and faithfully to keep the two great commandments and, yet, forgiven through the mediation of Jesus Christ.  Are we able to accept the testing of our hearts by God, trusting in God's grace?

So as we continue our journey in Christ, let us with remember St. Paul's understanding of his vocation: “ . . .just as we have been approved by God to be entrusted with the message of the gospel, even so we speak, not to please mortals, but to please God who tests our hearts.”

May we with confidence continue to respond to God’s call to each of us—and to all of us as a parish—always aiming to please God.

The 18th Sunday after Pentecost - God's Choice and Our Choice

To chose and to be chosen: these words can describe various relationships—friendships, teams, marriages, to name a few.  There can be a mutuality in the choosing—with both people being equal and free to accept or reject the choice of the other.  Yet, “to choose” can imply the person doing the choosing holds power over the one being chosen.  “To be chosen” for a job, for example, implies a power differential: the boss does the choosing and—if you need to earn a living—you accept the work offered, happy to be the one chosen.

How do we view our relationship to God?  Do we chose God?  Does God choose us?  Some people view God as being able to choose whomever God wants.  If we, on the other hand, view ourselves as having free will vis a vis God, then we have the power of choice as well.

These two points of view inform our understanding of adult (or believer's) baptism in contrast to infant baptism.  Adults can make promises to reject evil and choose Jesus Christ as their Lord.  Doing this of their own free will, they appear to hold the power of choice.  But many Christian churches baptize infants as well.  Although godparents and parents make the baptismal promises, our theology claims that the sacrament of baptism is valid for infants, despite their inability to make an informed choice.  We believe that God offers grace through the sacraments, including infant baptism—choosing us, even when we are incapable of choosing God. Both these points of view are theologically valid ways to understand baptism or any Christian sacrament—even though they will always remain in constant tension with each other.  For example, we can speak about our choosing to have faith—“we believe in one God, maker of heaven and earth.”  Or we can say we understand our faith as a gift from God, a mystery we can not explain easily, but one which is true for us, nevertheless.

In the reading we heard from Exodus, we find Moses in dialog with God about how God's choice to make the Israelites God's people should work:  Moses spoke to God, “If have found found favor in your sight, show me your ways, so that I may know you and find favor in your sight.”  [“Know” implies an intimate relationship.] A few sentences later, Moses defines more clearly what he is asking God for:  “Show me your glory, I pray.”  That is a step too far.  God affirms God's relationship with Moses with the words, “I know you by name.”  And God promises to show graciousness and mercy to those, including Moses, as God chooses.  But God restricts even Moses from seeing his face.

The writer of the book of Job has Job speak about the relationship he wants to have with God when his earthly life ends.  We use these words from the 19^th chapter of Job as part of the opening anthems in the Burial Rite:  “I know that my Redeemer lives . . .After my awaking, he will raise me up; and in my body, I shall see God.  I myself shall see, and my eyes behold him who is my friend and not a stranger.”  Through God's action after one's death, the prohibition about seeing God and knowing God intimately is lifted.

St. Paul brought up God's action of grace in his first letter to the Thessalonians—the earliest written theology of God's calling humanity into relationship through Jesus' life, death and resurrection.  Paul wrote, “For we know, brothers and sisters beloved by God that he has chosen you . . .”   And then Paul explains how this choosing happened:  “ . . . because our gospel came to you not in word only but also in power and in the Holy Spirit and with full conviction . . .”  Paul claimed that God acted powerfully through the third person of the Trinity to convince and transform those who heard Paul preach the gospel of Jesus Christ.

So we recognize both the sacraments and the preaching of the gospel as vehicles God to call us— to choose us.  Each time we hear a sermon and each time we receive the mystical body and blood of Christ we may sense the call of God as a barely discernible whisper—or it may be a like loud rushing wind overwhelming us with its power.

But in the reading from Matthew we heard this morning, the disciples of the Pharisees pose a question to Jesus that focuses on the other part of the “choosing-and-being-chosen” relationship.  In the real world we frequently face ethical and moral dilemmas.  These religious leaders tried to create one for Jesus in order to trap him into either losing the common people's support or getting into serious trouble with the Roman rulers.  Such a subtle question—but such a trap.  Let me paraphrase:  You very sincere, fair, and righteous person, are you going to support oppression and terror—or not?  Jesus' answer defined for them—and for us—the true question:  What does it mean to choose God in the real world in response to God choosing us? 

Ceasars—the rulers in this world—both those elected and those put in power by force—can demand what may be felt as oppressive, even cruel, by those they govern.  St. Augustine in his book, The City of God, said human governments will always be that way.  Our choosing God—our giving to God the things that are God's as Jesus puts it—means we will offer all that we have and all that we are to God who has chosen us first.  In choosing us, God offers us freedom from the power, not only of human oppression and all other sin, but also freedom from the power of death.  In choosing God, we accept this freedom, and we accept the responsibility for offering ourselves as Christ's compassionate heart, hands and feet in the world.

St. Paul praised the Thessalonians for their choosing God in Jesus.  He called their life in Christian community, “your work of faith and labor of love and steadfastness of hope in our Lord Jesus Christ.”  May God find such a community among us here at St. Nicholas.'

The 17th Sunday after Pentecost - Many Called, Few Chosen?

“Many are called, but few are chosen.”  I'm not so fond of the king in Jesus' parable from Matthew's gospel.  In fact, I not inclined to want to be part of the world of the parable either. This world is populated with socially impolite folk who ignore the king's invitation to a lavish wedding banquet. It seems as if the “save the date” cards had been sent and now the official invitations were carried in person by the king's servants to the invitees.  Some of these ungrateful, foolish folk had better ways to spend their time.  Others, in a gesture of contempt, mistreated and murdered the staff who brought the invitations.

Then the heat gets turned up a notch when the king responds in kind.  After ordering his troops to kill his contemptuous subjects, he sends out immediate invitations to everyone in the street.  His servants rounded up everyone they can find, probably calling, “Come to the wedding banquet for the son of the king.”  Both “good and bad” folks responded.  But something was still unsettled in this king's mind.  Clearly a detail person, he needed to check to see whether all those folks gathered from the street were dressed properly.

One poor unfortunate person was not wearing a wedding garment and got expelled in a rather brutal fashion from the banquet. Then Matthew reported Jesus summarizing the state of affairs:  “Many are called, but few are chosen.”

This very unpleasant parable comes at the end of a series of three parables near the end of Jesus' ministry.  Matthew reported that Jesus came to the temple in Jerusalem and overturned the tables of the money changers and those who sold doves.  These folks were cheating the poorest of the Temple worshippers.  Then in a verbal altercation with the temple authorities he told them that children praised God better than they did.  After spend the night in Bethany, he returned to the Temple in Jerusalem to teach.  On the way from Bethany, he was hungry and cursed a fig tree that had no fruit. Finally, he entered the temple and began to teach.  We should not be surprised that the temple leaders approached him and questioned his authority.

The past two Sundays we have heard the first two parables he told:  first, the parable of the two sons, one of whom obeyed his father even when he said he wouldn't and, then, the parable of the wicked tenants in the vineyard.  Now today we heard about the angry king who dragoons guests for his son's wedding banquet.  Did those authorities listening to Jesus think, “Enough already, get out of our faces?”  Well, Matthew reported this response: “Then the Pharisees went and plotted to entrap [Jesus] in what he said.”  Next week we will hear exactly how they question him, so he might misspeak, bringing the wrath of the Roman rulers down on him.

But that's next week.  Right now we have to deal with this parable Jesus told when he seemed to be in an angry, grumpy mood.  Matthew makes it clear the religious authorities understood Jesus was criticizing them.  But they were afraid of his popularity with the common people at the moment.

Neither the world of the parable nor Jesus' world could be called harmonious.  The term “class warfare” is being flung into political speech these days.  It could certainly apply to the conflict we are witnessing to as we hear (or read) this part of the Matthew gospel.  And we know how it will end.

“Many are called, but few are chosen.”  I think I understand how Jesus was using this parable to spar with those in the religious establishment of the Temple who questioned his authority.  But I certainly struggle with a theology that says God saves just a few people, while condemning most folks to an eternity away from the divine glory.  The Rob Bell book, “Love Wins,”—which a group of us are reading and discussing right now—suggests that salvation will be for many more than “a few.”

The only way I can understand how this parable speaks to us today is to find within myself parts of all the guests.  Sometimes I may ignore what God seems to want.  Sometimes I may actively oppose it. Occasionally I will respond, “Yes, God,” but I may then discover I am unprepared when I should have known better.  If we are honest with ourselves, we will surely find ourselves as unworthy of a banquet invitation to God's holy reign as any of the guests in the parable.

That thought is truly a downer—so what hope have we?  What about God's grace?  The three gospels—Matthew, Mark, and Luke—all address this concern with the image of a camel trying to go through the eye of a needle.  Here is how the 19^th chapter Matthew presents it:  [Jesus said,] “Again I will tell you, it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich [and I would add also 'or sinful'] to enter the kingdom of God.  When the disciples heard this, they were greatly astounded, and said, 'Then who can be saved?' But Jesus looked at them and said, 'For mortals it is impossible, but for God all things are possible.'”

Our hope in Christ, our faith that God desires our salvation—eternally living in God's glory—these primarily do not rest on our always resisting sin and simply living a pure and holy life.  As human beings we are not able—even when we try to!  Instead, our hope and our faith rest on the promise of God's saving grace, “for God all things are possible.”

The Wicked Tenants and St. Francis - What's the intersect?

On October 2, I preached one of my "conversational" sermons.  I sit on a stool in the middle of the church near the front and "chat" with the congregation.  Because of the distraction of some dogs parishioners had brought to be blessed, I was asked to post my talking points.  I usually only post my full text sermons, but I am making an exception for this sermon.

l      Parable of the Wicked Tenants – world of the parable is not the real world, but its meaning can be applied to the real world.

l      As an allegory (Matthew's pov) God = vineyard owner – Tenants = Jewish religious authorities – Slaves sent to collect = Jewish prophets from history – Jesus = heir – the fruit of the vineyard is what results of righteous and just behavior.  What does result is a well-ordered world in which God's reign = established.

l      But we don't live in 1^st century Palestine, neither did St. Francis – so what might it mean in another context?

l      Vineyard (grape vines, fence, wine press, watchtower) well ordered place which is torn apart by the disorder of tenant farmers who act with malice, without justice – appeared to live only to themselves and their own gain – no gratitude – no sense of duty at the very least.

l      In Francis' world: very rich (Francis’ family) and very poor; constant war; lepers lived a wretched existence of exile and begging

l      at 20 he went to fight and was captured and imprisoned for a year; returning home he became ill and had a spiritual crisis – started to enlist in another war, but had a vision and turned back; spent time praying to God for enlightenment.

l       After a pilgrimage to Rome, where he begged at the church doors for the poor, he said he had a mystical vision of Jesus Christ in the Church of San Damiano just outside of Assisi, in which the icon of Christ crucified said to him, "Francis, Francis, go and repair My house which, as you can see, is falling into ruins".  He tried to sell some of his father's cloth to finance the rebuilding, father objected strongly, Francis renounced his connection with his family.

l      At about 28 Francis heard a sermon that changed his life. The sermon was about Matthew 10, in which Christ tells his followers they should go forth and proclaim that the Kingdom of Heaven was upon them, that they should take no money with them, nor even a walking stick or shoes for the road. Francis was inspired to devote himself to a life of poverty.

l      He sought to preach what the reign of God should be like, cared for lepers, rejected any security from having any worldly goods individually and, as others joined him, as a group—was a beggar.

l      Radical dependence on God's goodness with a grateful heart = a way to turn the disorder of the world around—because the needs of the vulnerable and weak come first, as you acknowledge your life as God's gift.  Francis saw Jesus as ushering in the reign of God by living this way.  Francis’ lifestyle could be seen as a way of reversing the disorderly behavior of humanity that led to the death of God's messengers and the death of Jesus.

l      Radical praise of God as creator = giving God God's due; we as human beings have a God-given responsibility to care for God's creation and live humbly as creatures as well:  Canticle of the Sun

Most high, all powerful, all good Lord!
All praise is yours, all glory, all honor, and all blessing.
To you, alone, Most High, do they belong.
No mortal lips are worthy to pronounce your name.
Be praised, my Lord, through all your creatures,
especially through my lord Brother Sun,
who brings the day; and you give light through him.
And he is beautiful and radiant in all his splendor!
Of you, Most High, he bears the likeness.
Be praised, my Lord, through Sister Moon and the stars;
in the heavens you have made them bright, precious and beautiful.
Be praised, my Lord, through Brothers Wind and Air,
and clouds and storms, and all the weather,
through which you give your creatures sustenance.
Be praised, My Lord, through Sister Water;
she is very useful, and humble, and precious, and pure.
Be praised, my Lord, through Brother Fire,
through whom you brighten the night.
He is beautiful and cheerful, and powerful and strong.
Be praised, my Lord, through our sister Mother Earth,
who feeds us and rules us,
and produces various fruits with colored flowers and herbs.
Be praised, my Lord, through those who forgive for love of you;
through those who endure sickness and trial.
Happy those who endure in peace,
for by you, Most High, they will be crowned.
Be praised, my Lord, through our Sister Bodily Death,
from whose embrace no living person can escape.
Woe to those who die in mortal sin!
Happy those she finds doing your most holy will.
The second death can do no harm to them.
Praise and bless my Lord, and give thanks,
and serve him with great humility.

l      How do we respond to St. Francis' example?  Is it too hard an example?  In his lifetime the order of brothers he founded ceased to live as radically as Francis wished.  Even if it is too hard, should we try as best we can??  It can provide a balance for our self-centered concerns about what we want for ourselves.