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.
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