Yesterday, you understood a little; today, you understand better; tomorrow, you will understand better still: the light of God is growing in you. (St. Augustine of Hippo)
…Listening In…
The Word became flesh and made his home among us. We have seen his glory, glory like that of a father’s only son, full of grace and truth. (John 1:14; context)
…Filling Up…
This Lent, we are exploring our faith by running through the alphabet. Today, “I” is for Incarnate. I was struggling to come up with “I” words (all I could come up with was “Idolatry,” but I used that last year) so I am grateful for the suggestion of wonderful woman at my church. I daresay the word “incarnate” is not one you use on a daily basis. It assuredly falls into the camp of “church” word. This is a problem for we followers of Jesus who seek to take our spiritual lives out of the confines of the church and into the world. So how can we liberate the word “incarnate” from its Sunday internment.
First, I should probably remind you where you hear the word most often. If you’ve ever recited the Nicene Creed, then you’ve said the word “incarnate.” The Creed states: “[B]y the power of the Holy Spirit [Jesus] became incarnate from the Virgin Mary, and was made man.” This line in the Creed is where 99% of all uses of the word “incarnate” come. (Yes, I just made up that statistic.)
So how do we liberate the word for our use during the rest of the week? In fact, it’s easier than you might think; indeed, it is vital to remember the lesson of the Incarnation as we go about our daily lives. Do you see the “carn” in the middle of the word. Yes? Excellent. This is the same root that appears in the word “carn-ivore.” That’s right — “carn” means “flesh,” or more descriptively “meat.”
When we profess that the Son of God became incarnate, we are using polite language for something a little more down and dirty — the Son of God put on flesh and bones, muscle, sinew, blood, skin, hair. And with those he got all the stuff that goes with them: body odor, sunburn, stubbed toes, sprained ankles, sore neck, thirst, exhaustion. (Not to mention the ability to embrace and shake hands and look you in the eye…and die on a cross.)
But if this incarnate thing stopped with Jesus we wouldn’t be telling the whole story. Paul reminds us that we are the Body of Christ and each individually members of it. Thus, when we leave the church on Sunday morning (filled once again with the Eucharistic Body and Blood of Jesus Christ) we have the opportunity to embody Christ in the lives of other people, to be the flesh and bones which Jesus uses to fulfill his continuing work today.
…Praying For…
Dear God, thank you for sending your Son to take on the full human life as one of us. Help me to be an incarnation of your love and peace in this world. In Jesus Christ’s name I pray. Amen.
…Sending Out…
I leave this moment with you, God, thankful that you continue to shine your light in my heart and mind, that I may continue to know you better through every way that you choose to reveal yourself.
(Sermon for Sunday, February 24, 2013 || Lent 2C || Luke 13:31-35)
(Most sermons are better if you listen to them rather than read them. This one is especially so.)
Imagine with me a letter written by Simon the Pharisee some years after the events described in this morning’s Gospel reading.
Simon, a servant of the Lord God, to Judith, my dearest sister and confidant: Peace to you and your house.
I know it’s an inside joke between us that I only write to you when I am vexed or need to process something, but in this case, I write with a more urgent need. Yesterday in the marketplace something happened that has shaken me to my bones. Not only that, but after all these years, this event has caused me to let go of a secret I had been holding onto so very tightly. I need to tell you the truth about myself before you hear others slander me. I hope after you read these words you do not think less of me; rather, I hope you might consider joining me in my new-found freedom. But I get ahead of myself.
Here’s what happened. I was walking with my colleagues, Eli and Reuben, when we witnessed a strange scene. A small boy, no bigger than your grandson, snatched a loaf of bread off a baker’s cart. The boy must have been on his last legs because as soon he turned to run away, he dropped to his knees, nearly fainting. The baker had the boy by the arm when a woman picked up the loaf of bread and handed it back to the hungry child, saying, “Go and eat your fill, young one, and may the blessing of the Lord Jesus Christ be upon you.”
Then she reached into her purse to pay the baker for the bread. But before she could pull out a coin, Eli and Reuben rounded on her. I’ve never known them to be the most zealous persecutors of the followers of the Way, but something about this exchange riled them up. They dragged the woman to the ground, hollering the whole time about her blasphemy. Her trial, conviction, and sentence were the work of a moment, and before I knew what was happening, Eli had a chunk of rock in his hand ready to throw.
I didn’t plan to do it. I didn’t mean to do it. But in the instant after I realized what Eli was about to do, I found myself standing between him and the woman, arms wide, protecting her with my body. It was too late for Eli to stop, and I took the impact of the stone on my left shoulder. “If you’re going to stone her,” I yelled at them, “then you’ll have to stone me, too.”
What I’m trying to tell you, dear sister, is that, for these long years, I have been a follower of the Way of Jesus Christ. But until yesterday, my fear of being disowned by everyone I know convinced me to hold tightly to the secret. Now that my true devotion lies unmasked, I feel suddenly free to share my story with you – and not just free, but full of joy.
You see, you never know on what day your life will change. If you did, then you might be more prepared. You might wear a clean shirt or wash your face beforehand. The day my life started to change was a day similar to yesterday. I was out in the marketplace with a couple of colleagues. Jesus and his disciples were making a scene: throngs of people were clamoring for his attention, and talk of miraculous healing was in the air. You might recall I had met Jesus previously when he came to dinner at my house. That first meeting troubled me because he was so different than the country bumpkin I expected. This second meeting replaced my uneasiness with the seeds of new conviction.
At the time, we Pharisees were tired of Jesus upsetting the apple cart. He had been in our region quite long enough, and we wanted him gone. So we concocted a story about Herod wanting to kill him. The tale seemed plausible enough; after all, Herod had beheaded Jesus’ cousin John and then just continued on eating his dinner. Perhaps Herod did want Jesus dead. Either way, that’s what we told him. And I was completely unprepared for his response. Maybe he was calling our bluff. Or maybe he had no fear for his own life. He told us his plans – and they did not involve fleeing – and then told us to go tell Herod.
But his bravery wasn’t what enthralled me. It was what he said next. A haunted look played across his face as he lamented Jerusalem. I’ll never forget what he said: “How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing.”
Before I could arrange my face into the shocked expression appropriate for a Pharisee, my heart commandeered my body. It was the strangest sensation. Something deep inside me fluttered at his words, like one of the chicks in the hen’s brood. The fluttering stirred up three words that echoed in my depths. “I am willing.”
From that day on, I kept track of Jesus. My three words – “I am willing” – played over and over again in my mind. But I didn’t make the leap yet because I couldn’t chase his image of the hen and her brood out of my mind. What an odd animal to identify with. Why not something bigger? Something with teeth and claws. Something worthy of his fearlessness. Why a defenseless hen? A chicken, for God’s sake?
Later that year, I got my answer. I watched as he was crucified. I heard the dull thud of the hammer striking the nails. He was raised up on the cross, chest bared, arms wide. And as I watched and wept, all I could see was that mother hen, defenseless, spreading her wings wide to protect her brood, giving her life for theirs.
I was his from that moment on. I believe that he rose again and that his Spirit is with us to help us live a life full of God his Father. It feels good to write that down. Dear sister, it has taken me all these years to say it, but the words are there on the page now, never to be erased.
I might have said “I am willing” on that day of our second meeting, but as they say, the spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak. So what made me abandon my well-worn lie yesterday? I had gotten comfortable living as his secret follower, even though I knew that meant I was cutting myself off from so much of what being his follower means. Something about the events yesterday brought to my mind the image that so haunted me.
Eli raised the rock, ready to strike the woman who had helped the little boy, and I found myself getting in the way. If I had had time for rational thought, I doubt I would have done it. Perhaps my long years as Jesus’ secret follower finally spurred me to action. My brain didn’t have time to get in the way, so my heart interceded. And since my heart belongs to Jesus Christ, he propelled me to take a risk, to take a chance, secure in the knowledge that I am always and forever standing under the shadow of his wing. In that moment, I knew Christ was alive in me. He used me as the mother hen, defenseless, chest bared, arms wide, ready to absorb the blow. If I hadn’t known I was secure under his wing, I wouldn’t have had the strength to protect someone under mine.
And so this is my prayer for all my days hence: Lord Jesus Christ, sustain my faith so I can be vulnerable. Be my sheltering wing so I can take risks. Help me spread my arms wide as you did on the cross so I can fully and truly embrace others with your love.
My sister, I bare my heart to you in this letter not to convince you to become a follower of the Way like I am, nor to make you worry for my safety. I have written these words simply because I am not afraid anymore. Jesus Christ is alive in me. Therefore, I am resolved to live my life under the shadow of his wings, with my arms spread wide.
—
* Special thanks to Barbara Brown Taylor for her words about this passage found here. They unlocked this sermon for me.
We come this morning –
Like empty pitchers to a full fountain,
With no merits of our own.
O Lord – open up a window of heaven,
And lean out far over the battlements of glory,
And listen this morning. (James Weldon Johnson)
…Listening In…
God is faithful; by him you were called into the fellowship of his Son, Jesus Christ our Lord. (1 Corinthians 1:9; context)
…Filling Up…
This Lent, we are exploring our faith by running through the alphabet. Today, “H” is for Harmony. Yesterday, we talked about joining God’s dance and finding God’s rhythm. Now we are going to talk about our participation in God’s music. This music plays in each one of our hearts. Sometimes the music is soft: a half-whispered lullaby, barely discernible over the din of the world. Sometimes the notes crescendo to a deafening fortissimo that knocks us, weeping, to our knees. Most often, the music sounds as the percussive TUB-thp of our hearts — a rhythm that, if you listen closely, beats in time with the rest of the performing forces of creation (the “grace” we mentioned yesterday).
Each one of us has the music of God resounding within, but the symphony is incomplete until we have found each other, until we have joined together in fellowship as the orchestra of God. In Greek, this fellowship is called koinonia, but I’ve always thought that “fellowship” is a rather limp translation. For the sake of our metaphor, let’s translate koinonia as “harmony,” which lands much closer to the descriptive intent of the Greek word. Musical harmony is the collection of notes that adds structure, color, tone, depth, and meaning to the main tune. This tune, called the “melody” is the music of God within us. The combination of our own unique passions, trials, joys, griefs, and loves creates the harmony of the music of God.
As followers of God, we play together the koinonia, the harmony, of the music of God to a world so accustomed only to noise and clatter. The movements of our symphony resonate with the movement of God in this world. God provides the melody, and we harmonize with it together.
…Praying For…
Dear God, your creation sings out your praise. Help me to provide my voice to that song in such a way that I add a pleasing harmony to the life of your creation. In Jesus Christ’s name I pray. Amen.
…Sending Out…
I leave this moment with you, God, taking hope in the overarching reality that you are the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end.
We come this morning –
Like empty pitchers to a full fountain,
With no merits of our own.
O Lord – open up a window of heaven,
And lean out far over the battlements of glory,
And listen this morning. (James Weldon Johnson)
…Listening In…
What once was hurt
What once was friction
What left a mark
No longer stings
Because Grace makes beauty
Out of ugly things (“Grace” U2, from All That You Can’t Leave Behind)
…Filling Up…
This Lent, we are exploring our faith by running through the alphabet. Today, “G” is for Grace. When you look at the word “grace,” what is the first thing that comes to mind? You might think of the prayer you say before a meal. You might think of an adjective used to describe ballerinas and figure skaters. You might think of a special gift of God that we can’t earn and that we can’t really explain.
All of these things are bound up in the word “grace.” We say dancers are graceful because they have developed the skill of beautifully keeping themselves from falling over. Each time dancers step or leap or spin, they are actively falling until their feet touch the floor again. We call these motions graceful because the dancers have cultivated the balance and coordination that keep them on their feet no matter the difficulty of the movement.
In the same way, “grace,” as a theological reality, is the thing that keeps us from falling without the prospect of being caught, the thing that gives us the opportunity to find balance in our lives. This wonderful gift from God allows us to join God’s dance, to learn God’s steps, to follow God’s music. One of the reasons we say “grace” at meals is that meals are a regularly occurring point in our day (hopefully – though for so many of God’s people this isn’t so). The regularity of the prayer of grace keeps us in tune with God’s rhythm so that we can be graceful servants of God.
…Praying For…
Dear God, you fill the world with the rhythm of your love. Help me to find that rhythm in my heartbeat, help me be a person that exhibits the fullness of your grace. In Jesus Christ’s name I pray. Amen.
…Sending Out…
I leave this moment with you, God, taking hope in the overarching reality that you are the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end.
We come this morning –
Like empty pitchers to a full fountain,
With no merits of our own.
O Lord – open up a window of heaven,
And lean out far over the battlements of glory,
And listen this morning. (James Weldon Johnson)
…Listening In…
And when you fast, don’t put on a sad face like the hypocrites. They distort their faces so people will know they are fasting. I assure you that they have their reward. When you fast, brush your hair and wash your face. Then you won’t look like you are fasting to people, but only to your Father who is present in that secret place. Your Father who sees in secret will reward you. (Matthew 6:16-18; context)
…Filling Up…
This Lent, we are exploring our faith by running through the alphabet. Today, “F” is for Fasting. A fast is a way to make a space, to open up a hole within ourselves. A fast is an active and difficult denial of something that has influence over us (traditionally food, though fasts certainly are not limited to that area). When we fast, we forgo the things that we usually use to fill us up. And when we cease to fill ourselves up with all the junk of the world, we make room within ourselves for God.
Fasting intentionally opens up a hole for God to fill. When you move, you always have boxes piled up for a while. But then you unpack a little bit at a time and then sooner or later you can walk around the house unhindered by all our stuff. This is what fasting does for us. When we clear away the rubbish that has piled up in our interior selves, we make a space for God to come in and dwell. And the more interior square footage we devote to God, the better we will be able to listen and respond to God’s movement in our lives.
If you tend to fill yourself up with stuff you don’t really need, then don’t buy anything beyond basic necessity. If you tend to fill yourself up with worry about the security of your livelihood, then stop and pray when you find anxiety setting in. If you tend to fill yourself up with desire to live as the rich and famous do, then skip the grocery aisle magazine racks and E! Entertainment for a while.
As you deny yourself the things that normally fill you up, actively invite God to enter the newly cleared space. Choose to fast. Clear away the rubbish, hollow out your insides, and give God a place to fill.
…Praying For…
Dear God, you are present both within me and around me. Help me to make more room for you to fill within so that I can listen more closely to your voice. In Jesus Christ’s name I pray. Amen.
…Sending Out…
I leave this moment with you, God, taking hope in the overarching reality that you are the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end.
We come this morning –
Like empty pitchers to a full fountain,
With no merits of our own.
O Lord – open up a window of heaven,
And lean out far over the battlements of glory,
And listen this morning. (James Weldon Johnson)
…Listening In…
“…Whoever does the truth comes to the light so that it can be seen that their actions were done in God.” (John 3:21; context)
…Filling Up…
This Lent, we are exploring our faith by running through the alphabet. Today, “E” is for Enthusiasm. You might be wondering why I chose this word since, at first glance, it doesn’t seem all that religion-y. You’re right – we don’t use this word too often in church. But we should. Do you see the “T-H-U-S” in the middle of the word? Good. If you follow these letters all the way back in time to ancient Greece, they would have looked like this “θεος” or in our alphabet, “theos.” Look familiar? I’ll give you a clue: we get the words “theology” and “atheism” from this same word.
Right! It means “God.” (Theology is the “study of God,” and atheism is “disbelief in God,” (the “a-” making the word negative).) So, let’s go back to our original word: enthusiasm. When we say we are enthusiastic about something, we usually mean that we are excited or passionate about that something. I am enthusiastic about playing guitar and watching Doctor Who, for example.
But if you look at that little Greek root and add the little Greek prefix (“-en” meaning “in”), you get a bit different definition. Etymologically, “enthusiasm” means “in God.” Therefore, when we talk about our passions and excitements, what we are really saying is “these are the ways that I most clearly notice that I am in God.” Pretty cool, huh?
So, what are your passions? What are you enthusiastic about? How do you meet your Creator when you get involved with them?
…Praying For…
Dear God, you are within me even as I exist always in you. Help me to find those things that bring me closer to you, and help me recognize your presence in my life. In Jesus Christ’s name I pray. Amen.
…Sending Out…
I leave this moment with you, God, taking hope in the overarching reality that you are the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end.
We come this morning –
Like empty pitchers to a full fountain,
With no merits of our own.
O Lord – open up a window of heaven,
And lean out far over the battlements of glory,
And listen this morning. (James Weldon Johnson)
…Listening In…
The human mind plans the way, but the LORD directs the steps. (Proverbs 16:9; context)
…Filling Up…
This Lent, we are exploring our faith by running through the alphabet. Today, “D” is for Destiny. Destiny is an oft-misunderstood concept. Many would say that “destiny” is the final and ultimate way that your life will transpire no matter what you do to it: you can’t escape destiny, they say. This is the “Darth Vader” understanding of the concept. He tells Luke Skywalker several times that it is Luke’s destiny to switch over to the Dark Side of the Force; seemingly, there’s nothing Luke can do about it.
The other side of the coin says that there’s no such thing as destiny. Instead, we all make our own way; we all have self-determination, which trumps destiny every time. This is the “Han Solo” understanding of the concept. He tells Luke that hokey religions and ancient weapons are no match for a good blaster at Luke’s side. His intent is clear: I make my own rules, and I’m not beholden to any particular path.
A proper understanding of destiny falls somewhere between these two extremes. It is true that we cannot escape our destinies. However, this inescapable nature does not mean that we haven’t a chance of influencing that destiny. God’s directing creativity stands as the framework in which all our destinies exist. And this directing creativity includes our self-determination. Therefore, we cannot escape destiny because we are always choosing it. So ask God in your prayers to help you make your choices, for each one will impact the person you are becoming.
…Praying For…
Dear God, you are foundation for all life and your boundless creativity has given me this unique life. Help me to use this life in the ways in which you would desire for me to live. In Jesus Christ’s name I pray. Amen.
…Sending Out…
I leave this moment with you, God, taking hope in the overarching reality that you are the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end.
We come this morning –
Like empty pitchers to a full fountain,
With no merits of our own.
O Lord – open up a window of heaven,
And lean out far over the battlements of glory,
And listen this morning. (James Weldon Johnson)
…Listening In…
You prompt us yourself to find satisfaction in appraising you, since you made us tilted toward you, and our heart is unstable until stabilized in you. (St. Augustine, trans. Gary Willis)
…Filling Up…
This Lent, we are exploring our faith by running through the alphabet. Today, “C” is for Confession. Now, when you think of confession, I’d be willing to bet that the first thing that springs to mind is that wooden phone booth looking thing that you find in Roman Catholic churches. True, those are called “confessionals.” And one of the definitions of “confession” has to do with making known one’s sins to a member of the clergy and seeking absolution. But I want to take a bit more of an expansive stab at “confession.”
One of the books on the Church’s all-time bestseller list is St. Augustine’s Confessions. Now, if this book were a couple hundred pages of Augustine spilling his sins on the page, it would never have sold so well. Rather, Augustine uses a larger understanding of the concept of “confession.” The book is not strictly an autobiography, and it’s not a list of sins. The Confessions is Augustine’s prayerful reflection on God’s movement in his life. It is his witness to the overwhelming manner in which God changed that life. This is what confession is – the externalizing of an internal relationship, the proclamation of things hidden within.
In Augustine’s case, he uses his Confessions as a witness to other Christians. For modern followers of Jesus, our confessions happen when we make our faith in God known through our words and deeds. In a court setting, one confesses one’s guilt and awaits punishment. In a church setting, one confesses one’s life – the sin, the guilt, the success, the failure, the joy, the hardship, the love, the service – and awaits not punishment, but further instruction.
…Praying For…
Dear God, your movement in my life gives me something to confess. Help me to be unafraid to confess my faith in you and to let that faith transform me. In Jesus Christ’s name I pray. Amen.
…Sending Out…
I leave this moment with you, God, taking hope in the overarching reality that you are the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end.
We come this morning –
Like empty pitchers to a full fountain,
With no merits of our own.
O Lord – open up a window of heaven,
And lean out far over the battlements of glory,
And listen this morning. (James Weldon Johnson)
…Listening In…
The sacrifice of God is a troubled spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise. (Psalm 51:18; context)
…Filling Up…
This Lent, we are exploring our faith by running through the alphabet. Today, “B” is for brokenness. When I was a kid, I used to play this game that made the other three members of my family groan. I would take a cookie and break it in half. Then, I would stick the two halves together, hold them up, and ask, “Is it together or apart?” After a few years of this, my sister, mom, and dad made a pact with each other that they wouldn’t answer when I asked the question. Eventually I stopped. Then I became a priest, and now I spend my Sunday mornings tearing loaves of bread in half. And these loaves are most definitely “apart.” (Oh, God’s cosmic humor.)
When we break the bread during Holy Communion, we do so because there is no other way to share it. We break the bread in order that, over the course of a lifetime (and an afterlifetime), we may find wholeness in the God who dwells in that very bread. Church is for broken people. It would be for whole people, too, but there aren’t any of those. You see, every one of us is broken, and you might think this is bad news. But it’s not.
Broken things – like vases or radiators – have cracks in them. Broken people do, too. And it is through these cracks that God shines into and out from us. God is with us in our brokenness, repairing us so that we might one day participate with God in our rebuilding. As God remodels the cracks out us of, God leaves windows behind, through which to shine.
Know that God is with you in your brokenness. God loves you no matter how broken you may be. And like a bone that heals back stronger after a break, our brokenness gives God the opportunity to come in and make us better.
…Praying For…
Dear God, you are whole and you are holy. Help me to allow you to continue to create me into a less broken person, who always chooses the paths that lead to wholeness. In Jesus Christ’s name I pray. Amen.
…Sending Out…
I leave this moment with you, God, taking hope in the overarching reality that you are the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end.
We come this morning –
Like empty pitchers to a full fountain,
With no merits of our own.
O Lord – open up a window of heaven,
And lean out far over the battlements of glory,
And listen this morning. (James Weldon Johnson)
…Listening In…
Listen, I’m telling you a secret: all of us won’t die, but we will all be changed— in an instant, in the blink of an eye, at the final trumpet. (1 Corinthians 15:51-52; context)
…Filling Up…
This Lent, we are exploring our faith by running through the alphabet. Today, “A” is for ashes.
“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,” the priest says as he or she scrapes two lines of grit on the forehead. Two lines of soot, of the debris that’s left after the fire is gone. Now, the fire consumes, but it does not annihilate. The fire converts the material fuel into energy and burns with heat and light. When it dies out, the ash remains. The ash is the remnant of the material, the leftover stuff that did not change from matter into energy.
This is the symbol of the beginning of Lent, the season in which we recall all the ways we have fallen short of our callings as human beings, in which we recall why we need Christ in the first place. The two lines of ash make a cross, a device of torture and death that Christ changed into a symbol of hope and life. The keyword here is change.
The fire changes the fuel into energy and leaves the ashes. We take those ashes and make the sign of the cross on our foreheads. In the same way, walking with Christ changes us. We burn with the light of Christ. We burn with the energy that Jesus infuses into our lives. This burning separates all the pieces of us that God can use from the ash of selfishness, pride, and domination. Through the mercy and grace of God, as we burn, we leave behind this ash and we are changed.
…Praying For…
Dear God, you provide the spark that gets our fires going. Help me to burn brightly for you and to participate with you in the removing of the ash from my life. In the name of Jesus Christ I pray. Amen.
…Sending Out…
I leave this moment with you, God, taking hope in the overarching reality that you are the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end.
…Opening To…
Where the Wind... 