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!