St. Patrick's Episcopal Church      

Christmas 2011—The Rev. Stephen Smith

St. Patrick’s Episcopal Church, Dublin, Ohio

          The history of Christmas is a history of controversy.   From the days when the early Christian Church first started adapting pagan holidays celebrating the winter solstice and replacing them with the Christian observance of the birth of Jesus, down to today’s fights over “Happy Holidays” verses “Merry Christmas.”  There has been nothing but controversy.

          Since the Bible does not give the date of Jesus’ birth the early Christian community simply borrowed pagan celebrations of the light coming forth from darkness in the dead of winter and made them celebrations of the Nativity.  Yet this was controversial because the newly converted Christians did not always give up the pagan debauchery of the winter season. Controversy.

          In 17^th century England, the celebration of the 12 days of Christmas, from Christmas Day to Epiphany had become such a spectacle of drunkenness that the Puritans refused to even celebrate the holiday.  Reminding everyone that the date of Jesus’ birth is not given in the scriptures they rebelled against the dominant culture and embraced austerity instead.  For their trouble they got thrown out of the country and instead came and founded a new one on our shores.  And there are, even today, fundamentalist versions of Christianity that refuse to celebrate this holiday.  More controversy.

          Even as late as the 1950s, the National Chamber of Commerce here in the US sponsored a campaign to “put Christ back in Christmas.”  It was an attempt to remind the nation of the religious nature of the holiday in the midst of growing secularism.  Instead it quickly turned into a rant against people who used the short-hand Xmas instead of the full word Christmas in advertising.  When those who knew a little Church history pointed out the X is actually the first letter in Greek for Christ, and has been used by the Church as an abbreviation for Christ for centuries, the whole campaign kind of fizzled. Controversy.

          But the controversy form history that may speak most to our times is the one from the lavish gift giving of the Middle Ages.  You see, in Christian Europe from the 11^th through the 14^th centuries the lavish giving of gifts at Christmas was reserved for the wealthiest.   In those days only about 1% of the population, the Lords and Ladies of the landed royalty had any wealth at all.  The 99%, back in the day, had it far worse than the 99% today.  They were landed serfs, peasants or slaves.  They owned little more than the clothes on their backs.  Even if they were free, and not slaves, their meager accommodations where most likely owned by the Lord of the Manor.

          But Christian theology was clear from Saint Augustine in the 5^th century to Thomas Aquinas in the 13^th all theologians said that the accumulation of wealth beyond meeting basic necessities was sinful in and of itself.  I know we can’t imagine that in a capitalists society like ours which seems to value the accumulation of wealth above all else.  But it was true.  And even when the Church gathered vast amounts of wealth it was condemned by its own theologians.

          But those local Lords and Ladies of the Manor heard from their local priests and religious leaders over and over again that their souls were in danger because of their wealth.  The mere accumulation of wealth on their part was seen as controversial.  And so a custom arose that flourished for a few hundred years.  At Christmas the Lord and Lady of the Manor would hold a huge feast that lasted the whole 12 days of Christmas.  They would lavish gifts of clothing, food, tools, wine and animals upon their landed serfs and slaves.  It would make a huge dent in the accumulated wealth of the Lord and Lady, but the work of the slaves and serfs would replace it all over the course of the next year and the festival would repeat itself.  If you ever want to see a musical tribute to what this festival may have been like, our cathedral in Cincinnati puts on an annual Boar’s Head festival.

          In our day and age we hear a lot about the 1% and the 99%.  We hear that the rich are getting richer, and the poor are getting poorer.  It’s true.  And if we our honest with ourselves we know that most of the 99% in this country are really the 1% wealthiest when compared to the rest of the world.          If we ask what our Christian theology says about all this inequity . . . Well, I hate to tell you this but we do not have much more than what Augustine and Aquinas told us—the accumulation of wealth beyond meeting necessities is sinful, in and of itself.  If we, as Christians, tried to promote that theology in this day and age, especially at Christmas time—talk about controversy—maybe we would simply be rejected outright as crazy.

          John Schneider, a theology professor at Calvin College , however, has a different idea.  He does not see a Biblical justification for claiming that the accumulation of wealth, in and of itself, is sinful.  In fact, he points out that most of the imagines of the kingdom of God come with descriptions of extravagance: new clothes, lots of wine and food, precious jewels, did I mention wine, streets paved with gold, did I mention the vast amounts of wine?   You get the idea.  Schneider contends that lavishness and extravagance are features of God’s gift of salvation.

          The key for Schneider, and for Christianity, then, is not how lavish we are with our gifts to family and friends, and with the accumulation of our own stockpiles of wealth, but how much we allow for and help make possible the same lavishness to be available to others.  Make no mistake; Schneider does see the incredible gap between the wealthy and the poor in this world as extremely sinful.  But he also sees the potential for lavishness and abundance for everyone as a Christian ideal, within the limits of environmental sustainability, of course.

          So you might say that those who have lived into this kind of Christian celebration of the Nativity are the layaway angels who paid off the layaway balances of others this year.  Or consider the woman who bought a handful of $25 gift certificates to ToysRUs to pay off her layaway balance.  She bought the gift cards so she could get discounts on gasoline purchases.  She needed the discounts because both she and her husband had been out of work for over six months.  When she got to ToysRUs she found her layaway balance already paid off so she started giving her gift cards to random strangers in order to share the wealth and the joy.

          These people surely are living their faith this Christmas.  So are those who lavish gifts on their children but also lavish gifts on Heifer International to purchase animals for a community in need.  The Christian theology of wealth is lived out when we have piles of toys and wrapping paper on the living room floor, while at the same time donations to Episcopal Relief and Development have provided well pumps to ensure safe drinking water to an entire village.  The Christian celebration of Christmas becomes real when we sit down to a feast of more calories in one day than we probably need for a whole week and when we make possible food donations through local Foodbanks, and through international organizations.  Christmas joy comes when we are lucky enough to deposit a Christmas bonus, and when we give gifts to micro-lending organizations that help someone halfway across the world start a new business that will help them create and accumulate wealth.

          The fullest celebration of Christmas will not come by giving up our lavish feasts.   It will come by making the feast possible for all.

Easter 2011    the Rev. Stephen Smith

St.  Patrick’s Episcopal Church, Dublin, Ohio

          “There was a garden in the place where he was crucified, and in the garden there was a new tomb in which no one had ever been laid.”

          The Gospel of John tells us the resurrection of Jesus takes place in a garden.  Mary Magdalene cannot even comprehend the idea.  There is only the empty tomb in that garden.  And if anyone is hanging around the empty tomb it can only be the gardener.  For her, Jesus simply can’t be there.  His body (his remains) must have been removed.  It is only the gardener.

          She is partially right.  John’s Gospel comes to its climax where the whole Bible begins—in a garden.  This is no accident.  In the resurrection of Jesus, John is making an allusion to the story of Creation.

          We all know that story, that story from Genesis.  Humanity was placed in the garden, in an ideal state, to till it and to keep it.   There was only one rule, basically do what God tells you to do, and we screwed it up—big time.  That’s the story of creation, the story of human nature; we had it all, in the garden, and we blew it.

          And now the resurrected Jesus appears in a garden.  He appears here because now he is the new creation, the new story, not of what humanity is and was, but what it can be, what God can transform us to become.  He calls Mary by name.  And when she hears her name she sees and knows that this is Jesus.  And she takes hold of him.

          But the risen Christ will have none of it.  Do not hold me, he tells her.  This new creation cannot be held, cannot stay in the garden.  It is not static, like the garden of Genesis, tilled by humanity where nothing ever changes.  No, this new creation is dynamic, changing, moving, always on the move to meet humanity wherever it happens to be. 

          The next stop for the risen Christ will be the disciples huddled behind closed doors, afraid, and guilty for betraying their friend.   But even closed doors cannot stop the new creation.  Fear will not stand in its way.  Guilt cannot contain the new creation from showering them all with forgiveness, compassion and love.  The risen Christ, the new creation, appears in the garden and then moves on from there to change everything.

          Change everything.  That’s what happened to Gerald, according to Tom Long.  Tom Long is a retired professor who once held the most prestigious position in all of homiletics.  He was the preaching professor at Candler University.  Only the greatest preachers are called to that endowed professorship.

          When Tom retired he moved to Charlotte, NC and, once there, looked for the biggest and best Presbyterian Church to join.  It was a downtown Church.

          Tom and his wife had been attending for a few weeks when they were invited to a dinner for new members.  It was a nice event where everyone got to mill around and to know one another.  Finally, after diner, everyone was invited to say where they were from and why they were joining in the Church.  Tom said he was glad to be at a larger Church where he could get away from academia for a while and keep a low profile.  Another family talked about the youth group.  Still another said the church was the only one downtown with adequate parking.

          Then Gerald spoke.  He said, “I’ve been coming to the AA group here for about a year and figured it was time for me to join the Church because I am so thankful to all of you and to Jesus, because the two of you have transformed my life.”

          Wow, did Tom feel a bit sheepish.  He was coming to this big Church to keep a low profile.  Others came for the youth group, or something as simple as parking.  Gerald was here because the risen Christ had transformed his life.  After that dinner Gerald jumped into active participation in the Church.  He seemed to be there whenever the doors where open.

          Then, about a month later, just as quickly he was gone.  Tom gave in to jaded cynicism and assumed Gerald was off the wagon; drinking again.  He asked the head pastor about Gerald.

          “Oh, he’s in jail,” the Pastor.

          “Did he get arrested?” Tom asked.

          “No,” said the pastor.  “He turned himself in an old warrant.  He thought it was the right thing to do.”

          Tom went to visit Gerald at the jail.  “You know you probably didn’t have to do this,” he said.  “My guess is no one was looking for you anymore.”

          “No,” said Gerald.  “I did the crime so I ought to do the time.  Besides, God has placed me in a lot of places in here where I can minister to others.  It’s all good.”

          Tom thought to himself how he came to the Church to keep a low profile, to be almost an anonymous Christian.  And here was Gerald, transformed and alive and anything but anonymous, bringing the gospel of the risen Lord to places nobody else wanted to go.

          The risen Christ appears in a garden to announce that God has put aside that original garden and now wants a new creation.  But this new creation is dynamic and alive.  It cannot be held in the garden.  It cannot be kept out by locked doors, or even jail cell walls.  It cannot be pushed away by fear or guilt.   It cannot be kept at bay by a desire for anonymity, a simple search for a good youth group or parking.   The new creation embodied in the risen Christ seeks for Gerald, and those like him (you and me), to transform us and brig us to life.

The Rev. Stephen Smith, February 6, 2011

Matthew 5:13-20

          “Unless your righteousness exceeds that of the scribes and the Pharisees you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.”

          Jesus offers some pretty harsh words that don’t really jive with most of what we say about the Gospel.  I mean, doesn’t Saint Paul remind us that we cannot be saved by “works of the law?” and that we can’t earn our way into heaven.   And the Gospels remind us over and over again of the unconditional love God has for all of us.  And Stephen you keep telling us God loves everybody, that God has no taste.  Yet here Jesus says we have to be more righteous than the scribes and Pharisees or we can’t even get into the kingdom of heaven.

          Jesus does attack the scribes and Pharisees, but not about their righteousness, more their self-serving attitude.   As to righteousness they seem to know the law inside and out and they do their best to keep it.  How can we possibly keep up? And we have to be even more righteous than they are.  We just can’t do it.

          Well, it’s not about us.  Just as Cricket pointed out last week that the beginning of the Sermon on the Mount and the beatitudes are not about us but those we welcome into our midst, so this righteousness that exceeds the scribes and Pharisees is not about us either.

          You see that was the problem with some of the religious leaders, according to Jesus.   They were overly self-centered and concerned about themselves.  They thought it was all about them.  If you continue reading in the Sermon on the Mount you will come across Jesus condemning religious leaders for making a big deal out of giving alms, just so they could show off in front of other people and get recognized.  In addition, Jesus goes after those who make a public display over their prayers or their good works, all so they can get recognition.

          Righteousness is not all about us. “But wait,” you might say, “What about all that stuff at the beginning of today’s Gospel?  It certainly sounds like it’s all about us.”  True, Jesus does use a lot of declarative statements to refer to you and me, his listeners. “You are the light of the world!  You are the salt of the earth.”  We are even meant to be a shining city on a hill.

          Here, I believe, Jesus simply tries to remind us that people are paying attention.  If we dare to claim the name Christian then people will pay attention.  They will watch to see if we live up to that name.  Sadly we won’t all the time.  We will fail, and sometimes publicly.  It is sad, but true.

          After all, haven’t we all heard comments from people about how they don’t want to be part of the Church because it’s full of hypocrites.  The smart alec response would be, “There’s always room for one more so come join us next Sunday.”

          Levity aside, it is true that our failure to live up to our best selves has alienated many people from the Good News of the Gospel.  And our imperfection will always lead to this happening from time to time.  And if that’s the case how can our righteousness exceed that of the scribes and the Pharisees?

          The crux of the matter can be found in the middle of this Gospel where Jesus says, “Let your light so shine before others that that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven.”  The key words here are “others” and “give glory to your Father in heaven.”  The good we do is not for ourselves, but for others.  We do good for the benefit of someone else.  And if they see us at all, it is to see through us and beyond us to our God who is the source of all good.  Others see our good works and are directed beyond us to the God who loves us all.  Yes, people are paying attention, which gives us the opportunity, through our good works, to point to something beyond ourselves.

          The best example of this I ever saw was years ago when my son was maybe seven or eight years old.  We were at the grocery store buying just a couple of items and so we checked out in the 12 items or less lane.  They don’t have those anymore.  Now people just self scan, buy with a credit card and go.  Back then, you had a special line or two for people with small purchases.

          The cashier was anxious and in a hurry.   There were a lot of people in line.  The guy in front of us was arguing, politely, with the cashier saying she had given him too much change.  She just wanted him to move on.

          He turned to me and said, “Do you mind.  I really want to get this right.” 

          There was a long line but I said, “Sure.  Go ahead.”  Heh, I didn’t care.  I wanted to see what was going to happen.

          Finally, he counted out the money and showed the cashier that she had given him an extra dollar in change, which he returned.

          The cashier looked a little annoyed and asked, “Why did you do this?  It was only a dollar and it was to your benefit.”

          “I didn’t do it for my benefit,” he said.  And then he pointed at my son and said, “I did it for his.”  And he walked away.

          I do not know who this man was.  I had never seen before, nor have I seen him since that event.  But he exemplified what it means to allow our goods works to show before others in ways that glorify God.

          Do good, the best you can, not for yourself alone but for the benefit of others; in order that they may not necessarily see you, but rather experience the goodness of God.  In that way your righteousness will indeed exceed that of the scribes and the Pharisees and you will glimpse the kingdom of heaven.

A Trinity Sunday sermon preached by the Rev. Cricket Park

My name is Cricket Park and I’m a Trinitarian.

I am a Trinitarian not only because that is how I experience God, but because it is a part of my Anglican DNA.  I’m steeped in it, like English Breakfast tea.  If you pay attention, every collect that we read on Sunday is framed within the context of the Trinity.  The good Archbishop Cranmer did that on purpose.  Whether it was a collect of his writing or one written by someone else, he wanted the people hearing it to remember that we believe in a Triune God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  If that wasn’t enough, the ceremony surrounding the Sacraments of the church shares that Trinitarian frame.  We baptize in the name of the Trinity, all of the persons of the Trinity are included in the Eucharistic Prayer, couples who are being married in the church declare their fidelity to each other in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. You get the idea.

There’s also that big chunk of Trinitarian theology that we say every week – the Nicene Creed.  Well, actually it is the Constantinian Creed, which is the expanded version of the work done at Nicea.  The Nicene creed was developed first in 325 CE at the behest of the emperor Constantine.  There had arisen a faction of Christianity that insisted that “the Word” – was created by God and so the Incarnation of that Word – Jesus – could not be held to the same divine status as the Father.  Arius and his friends believed that ‘there was a time where He was not.’  The arguments over this spilled into the marketplace and caused such consternation – loss of life even – that Constantine realized that a divided empire was not conducive to his plans.  He summoned the bishops of the Church to come together and get it all ironed out.  Constantine was not on Arius’ side, and so the bishops (with a little push from the emperor) bid Arius goodbye and put into print what we as a church continue to subscribe to today.

The problem with this big chunk of theology is that we’ve lost the intent of these bishops, and forgotten what “Credo” or “Creed” actually means.  Credo comes from the Latin root that means “heart.”  Therefore, when we say “We believe. . . “ we are actually saying “I give my heart to.”  This is not a belief in scientific fact.  It is a spiritual exercise.  We are surrendering our hearts to our God who cannot be fully comprehended by human beings.  At no time were the church leaders trying to define God with this creed.  On the contrary, they were putting forth a concept that was so abstract that it bids us to widen our understanding of God. 

I’m professing to you today that I am a Trinitarian because recently I have had Episcopal colleagues ask me to describe for them my relationship with Jesus Christ.  My reaction to that request was mixed.  First, I was flabbergasted.  Why are you asking me to limit my relationship to the Second Person of the Trinity only?  Second, I was appalled.  My relationship with Jesus is an intimate one.  How dare you pry?  Will the next question be about how much I make a year?

But, I guess my most significant reaction was of frustration.  You see, if these people had asked me the right question, I could have told them exactly what they wanted to know.

If they had asked me how I experienced God, I could have told them how full of awe I was as I peered over the rim of the Grand Canyon at sunset.  I could have shared my sense of wonder when I held my newborn son for the first time.  I could have related how frightened I was, cowering in my parents’ basement, during a tornado. But they didn’t ask me that question.

If they had asked me how I experienced God, I could have told them about having lunch with my friend Jo.  It was the afternoon before the first night of Passover and the Wednesday in Holy Week.  Jo is living with cancer and she knows that, in order to work, she has to guard her energy resources.  She is also Jewish and was frustrated that she wasn’t going to be able to share Pesach with her relatives that night because she wouldn’t have enough energy to get her through the next day if she did.  We talked a bit longer and then she said to me, “Cricket, this is my Pesach.  We are like family.  We are having rich conversation.  I don’t need to feel badly.”  Instinctively, I reached for the bread, broke it and handed her part of it.  Jesus was with us.  Her Pesach and my Eucharist came together.

My experience with Jesus hasn’t always been so pleasant. 

One night in January, I was sitting in the sanctuary alone.  Had someone looked in from the outside, they would have said I was praying or meditating.  I wasn’t doing either.  You see, thirty minutes before I’d been told that a friend of mine had committed suicide.  Inside my head I was screaming.  “WHERE WERE YOU?  YOU CALL THIS BEING A SAVIOR?  DID YOU JUST STAND THERE DOING NOTHING?  WHERE WERE YOU!!!!!”   It wasn’t until I stopped screaming that I heard a voice that whispered “Cricket, dearest, he fell into my arms.”

I could have told them both of those stories.  But they didn’t ask the question.

If they had asked me the right question, I could have told them about an experience in a hospital room.  My friends had summoned me because one of their friends was extremely ill and they didn’t think he would live through the night.  He’d asked for communion, but as I drove to the hospital that night I got this feeling that he’d not been baptized.  When I got to the room, one of my friends confirmed my gut feeling.  I told them that we could take care of that.  Surrounded by his friends, the young man took my hand and renounced Satan and the forces of evil that rebel against God and turned to Jesus Christ as his Lord and Savior.  Holding his head in my arms, I baptized him in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  The air in the room was electric.  A place of darkness and death was transformed into a place that was divine and full of life.  I will never forget it.  Oh how I wish they would have asked the right question.

You see, if they had, I could have told them how I experience the three-person’d God who batters my heart and invites me to surrender it over to the One who creates, redeems and sustains us all.

Amen.

Easter Sunday 2010, the Rev. Stephen B. Smith

Luke 24:1-12, St. Patrick’s Episcopal Church

          There is a new town in central Florida that has grown from nothing to 80,000 residents in 10 years.  It is called, “the Villages.”  It is a community exclusively for those over 55 years of age.  It offers a wide range of housing possibilities from small condos and patio homes that cost about $80,000 to large homes priced at over $1 million.   It features a large, man-made lake with a beautiful lighthouse on one of its shores.  There are two downtown areas with a variety of shops, both created by set designers from Hollywood to look like small town squares with late 19^th century architecture.  There are nine golf courses to choose from.  What a great place to retire.

          What makes this community unique is its history.  Yes, I know the community is only ten years old but it has a history.  They made one up.  The developers gave “the Villages” a back story.  So, now there is a company that provides boat tours on the lake to tell stories about events that took place on the lake and its shores (which of course never happened because the lake was created 10 years ago for this very development).  In both downtown areas there are historic markers and plaques to commemorate events that never happened, and people who never existed.

          It is Disney World for the retirement community.  But what makes this kind of creepy, at least for me, is that people really live their lives in this fantasyland.   I mean when we take our children to Disney World or Disneyland, or even Kings Island or Cedar Point, we know it is temporary and for entertainment only.  People in The Villages live, shop, play golf, go the doctor, eat, and sleep in a community with a fabricated history.  I find the whole thing a little bizarre.

          Voltaire once said that, “if there were no God we would find it necessary to invent one.”  What he meant by this is that we humans beings desire and need meaning.  And if necessary we will invent systems of meaning if they are not readily available.

          In many ways I believe that is what The Villages represents.   So many of us reach the end of our productive lives and enter retirement with very little connection to past, or history or roots.  We have moved so many times to accommodate changes in jobs or promotions, that we may have no connection to the towns of our births or the homesteads of previous generations.  In real life, we lack a back story.

          Now before I beat up this metaphor too much let us remember that the penchant for throwing off our past is not all bad.  The American desire to forge new ground, to blaze new trails, to invent, to throw off the shackles of our past and start anew has, I believe, changed the world for the better.  This behavior has brought us some sense of meaning.  But it has come at a cost.  And this cost is reflected in The Villages, a community that helps people find meaning by inventing a back story.  Without meaning, we invent it if necessary.

          The strength of Christianity is that it seeks to find meaning in the real events of life.  Whatever we believe about the resurrection it is more than just an empty tomb some woman found 2000 years ago.  And we trivialize the event and leave it in the past alone if we try to prove that it really happened.   On the other hand, our detractors also trivialize the resurrection when they accuse us of inventing a back story, making the whole thing up to invent meaning (as Voltaire would say).

          The resurrection is historically true not just because of the empty tomb but because we have witnessed it over and over again.  We Christians dare to claim that in Jesus’ resurrection, God has opened up an era of hope for new life that cannot be taken away, not even by death.

          And let me offer two examples of that hope for new life, one revealed in death, and one revealed in a transformed life.  These examples both come from World War II, and are the stories of two of the greatest theologians of the last century.

          Dietrich Bonheoffer was one of the few Germans who early on saw the dangers of the Nazi party.   He started his protest against Nazism by opting out of the national Lutheran Church of Germany and helping to form a separate entity called The Confessing Church.  He ended his protest by joining the plot to assassinate Adolf Hitler.  Bonheoffer was arrested and sent to a prison camp just prior to the end of the war.  In fact, he was hanged two days before the camp was liberated by the Americans.  But his hope and optimism at what God could do both in this life and the next never wavered.  In his final days he became an inspiration to the guards at the camp who knew their country’s days were numbered.   He himself wrote letters from prison that still inspire all their readers to trust in God no matter what.  His impending death could not diminish his hope in God, and his actual death did not stop the on-going inspiration provided by his writings.  His message of hope in the face of death is a true witness to resurrection.

          The theologian Jurgen Moultmann took an entirely different route to the resurrection.  He grew up as a secular German with very little connection to the Church.  He thought Christianity to be an outmoded may of looking at the world.  He supported the Nazi party, and saw the German culture as the culmination of all of human history.  He was in the air force but with the impending invasion of Germany itself by the Allies he was conscripted into the army and sent to the Western front.  His unit was over-run by American troops; he was captured and sent to a camp in the Netherlands.  There he was tormented by his captors, and eventually forced to watch films of the liberation of the German death camps.  He fell into almost complete and total despair over the sins of his country and over its destruction in the loss of the war.

          One guard showed him compassion and gave him a copy of the New Testament.  With nothing else to read he began to read it.  Then, he was transferred to a camp in Scotland and forced into slave labor clearing debris from bombed out areas all over England.  He was not released until Britain and Germany came to an agreement about POWs more than a full year after the war was over.  But during his internment he found the people he thought to be his enemies to be kind and compassionate.  His reading of the New Testament got him to rethink his earlier dismissal of Christianity.  Upon his return to Germany he entered University and eventually went on to become a PhD theologian.

          His major contribution to the Christian world is his theology of hope.  He claims that in Christianity hope is always possible, if not in this life then in the next.   And that the seeds of hope are present even in the depths of despair, loss, and destruction.  He points to his own story and proclaims that the seeds of his transformation were already being planted, even when his unit was over-run by American troops, even when he was tormented by his captors, and even when he despaired over his country and his life.  None of these things could stop the reality of hope from breaking through.

          And so, he points to his own life as a witness to the resurrection.

          As Christians we don’t need to invent a back story in order to create meaning for ourselves.  We already have the reality of lives transformed by God.   And because of the resurrection the hope for this reality will never go away.

• Maundy Thursday 2010

  The Rev. Cricket Park

  This morning I noticed a link on the BBC website that linked to Magdalen College at Oxford.  The article there said that scholars there had discovered a number of manuscripts left there by one of their most famous professors, C. S. Lewis.  Among the manuscripts were postscripts left out of Lewis’ most famous books, The Great Divorce, Mere Christianity, and one of his best-sellers: The Screwtape Letters.  I thought one of those postscripts was particularly appropriate for this evening, so, with your indulgence I thought I’d share it with you.  It’s from The Screwtape Letters.

   

  Dear Wormwood,

  In your last letter, you write of a ceremonial you have just witnessed among the Enemy’s followers.  I believe you reduced the elements of this ritual to Friends, Feet and Food. I suppose, dear Wormwood, that to a novice that is what this ritual of the enemy’s followers is all about.  But, I warn you, under the surface this evening’s activities are of a most dangerous nature.

   

  Juxtaposition, Wormwood, if there is any arrow in the Enemy’s quiver more fatal to our cause it is juxtaposition.  The Heavenly One loves to display one thing against another to make His point.  There are three of these arrows flying about the spiritual realm this evening.  You are correct in that they correspond to your simple elements, and so I shall help you to examine them one by one.

   

   

  First, let us consider this practice of friendship. Note that the creatures are almost always connected in some way at tables.  The creatures revel in their time together.  They are comrades, on a level playing field with each other, and the world is their oyster.  It is delightful to watch their small tables become microcosms of their several worlds.  Little do they move from one to the next, always happy to stay in the seats that are comfortable to them.  How this grieves the Enemy and correspondingly delights Our Father Below.  To keep them in their small worlds is our mission.

   

  This ritual you describe, however, redefines friendship for the creatures.  It is despicable, Wormwood.  Never would you or any other tempter venture so far as to call Our Father Below a ‘friend’, but the Enemy insists on such saccharine arrangements.  The insistence goes so far as to nearly destroy our potential to persuade them to our side.  I must reiterate the annoying reality that the Enemy actually loves these creatures.  In this ritual, the creatures are reminded that their camaraderie actually begins and ends in relationship to the Enemy.  They are bidden to seek Him out as they interact with one another.  Of course, this can only begin a slippery slope toward wholeness.  After they discover the Enemy within themselves, they will be moved seek Him in others.  Once finished with their own tables, they’ll be driven in their search to other tables.  You must do everything in your power to keep this from happening, Wormwood.  While you missed your opportunity this year, don’t despair, you will get another.  The institution insists on repeating this disgusting ritual annually.

   

  The key to victory lies in that vile practice of foot washing.  At first it would appear that the Enemy’s command is to be the servant.  Such a dramatic exhibition – the towel around his waist, the humbleness – the recollection moves me to nausea.  That is the weak point; this is where the creatures can be re-directed.  You see, Wormwood, there is much seduction in serving.  If they are manipulated in the way of darkness, they will begin to see their serving as being equal to the Enemy.  They will become drunk with Spiritual Pride.  It is delightful to see them succumb to this sin, my little tempter.  It is so much more so with the ordained ones.  I hope you have the opportunity to witness the fall of one of their ilk someday.

   

  You must be diligent in your manipulation here.  Your work will be for naught if the creatures discover that there is equivalent blessing on the receiving end of servanthood. Remind them that it is better to give than to receive.  Such platitudes lull them into believing that receiving is inferior and should be avoided at all cost.  Such beliefs keep them for asking for assistance from the Enemy and from their friends and therefore puff up their egos until they think that they need no one.  Keep them pointed in the direction of pride, for if they discover an aptitude for vulnerability, no amount of temptation will be able to turn their soul.  It is crucial, Wormwood, that they believe they are independent creatures, in need of no other besides themselves.  The Kingdom of Noise is at hand when we convince them that love is an emotion on which to capitalize and not a choice made on behalf of the whole community.  The Enemy may command them to love, but it is up to them to choose.

   

  Finally, use the creatures’ addiction to consumption to your advantage.  Food must accompany anything and everything.  They cannot be entertained without it, they cannot study without it, they cannot imagine any aspect of their lives without it.  It has become for many an end in itself.  And, were it the choice of Our Father Below, it would remain such.  Of course, as I wrote to you once before, the gluttony we have here is not of excess but of delicacy.  The creatures cannot tolerate accepting what is put before them.  It is either too much or too little, over seasoned or bland, undercooked or too well done.  Their desire is an insatiable need for the exact.  Of course, the creatures cannot manufacture perfection and so they foment their own misery.  They think indigestion is to blame; we know more fully what ties them in knots.

   

  The fatal juxtaposition for us, Wormwood, occurs not at this large meal, but at the smaller one. The creatures reenact that one meal shared in the upper room with our Enemy.  Bread ‘becomes’ body; wine ‘becomes’ blood.  In their sacrament, a small wafer and a sip of wine are proclaimed to provide what is necessary.  Yet, here is the paradox: The creatures are exposed only to an appetizer of the Enemy’s eternal banquet.  It is what is necessary, and yet it leaves them hungry and thirsty for more.  From the altar they go forth in search of meaning, on a quest for a closer relationship with the Enemy. 

   

  Oh, how we must strive to keep them at the larger table, fat, sassy, and fit for Our Father Below.

  I am sorry that you witnessed this ritual Wormwood, but I rejoice that you informed me of it so that I could share my reflections on its importance with you.  Do continue your surveillances and apprise me of your progress.

   

  Your affectionate uncle,

  Screwtape

   

  PS/There was no link to Oxford from the BBC this morning.  April Fool.

   

   

   

   

Last Sunday in Lent 2010

The Rev. Cricket Park

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

On one of those high school days of teenage angst, when I was opining the fact that I had no boyfriend, no one who wanted to date me, and a certain future as an old maid, my grandmother took me aside and gave me a piece of her sage southern advice.  “Cricket, honey,” said Monie in her Kentucky drawl. “You really can’t expect to just sit there and wait and have something happen.  Truth is you have to chase a man until he catches you.” 

I remember staring at my grandmother and wondering if she’d been nipping at the bottle of Jim Beam that was ever-present under the kitchen sink for medicinal purposes.  (She was a Methodist, after all.)   As the years went by, though, I began to understand that statement.  In fact, I employed it with much success almost 30 years ago.  But, it’s not a piece of sage advice that is applicable only to human relationships.  There are so many dreams in this life that we pursue: careers, hobbies, knowledge, the perfect three-point jump shot.  These are good things! The question we should be asking ourselves in the process of these pursuits is ‘what is catching us’?

Dreams reveal to us those things we cherish and desire.  There’s absolutely nothing wrong with dreaming and pursuing those dreams. Without them, we wouldn’t have advances in economics or medicine or space flight.  From dreams come great musical compositions, ballets, masterpieces of fine art and literature, and extraordinary theater productions. Those who competed at the recent Winter Olympics – whether or not they stood on a podium at the end of the day – were there in pursuit of their dreams.  In fact the act of dreaming may help us decide whether or not we have the intestinal fortitude to begin a pursuit in the first place.  Dreams are also signals of what may be going wrong – a dream can be the opposite of the actual, a hope for restoration of what once was.

We are human, however, and our dreams and the pursuit of them can quickly go astray.  I’m not thinking so much about o’er-leaping ambition, Macbeth-style, that turns us into murderous fiends….that’s the extreme.  No, where you and I are most likely to stray is when we look at our dreams and our pursuit of them and believe that they trump our pursuit of the divine desire.  That is when we become entangled in a web of self-righteousness. The only thing ‘catching’ us is our own ego.

When we read the first part of Paul’s letter to the Philippians, it would be easy to deride what appears to be Paul’s significant ego trip.  But, Paul had a purpose in carting out his spiritual resume.  Paul needed to insure that the members of the church in Philippi knew that he was a legitimate authority.  In the same way that we extol our achievements when we need to establish our place in a particular pecking order, Paul laid out the reasons why he is able to say what he is about to say:  None of his achievements, none of his genetic pedigree means anything compared with what is truly important, what is truly worth pursuing.  In fact, the achievements and the pedigree are rubbish to him.  The prize that motivates Paul is a relationship with God in Christ in which he knows and is known completely.

Let me, at this point, provide a short lesson in linguistics.  You see, this exhortation from Paul is much more intense than our English translations have hope to provide.  The word ‘rubbish’ in the New Revised Standard Version is translated as ‘filth’ in the New Jerusalem Bible, which is a little closer to the Greek, which is ‘manure’.  Therefore, Paul’s upbringing, his zeal, his blamelessness is akin to that which we are currently using to prepare our gardens this time of year. 

Paul is also intense with regard to his dream.  He wants to know Christ. The word ‘know’ connotes more than intellectual awareness in scripture.  To know someone means you are one with them.  Yes, this is often a physical oneness, but it isn’t limited to sexuality.  To know someone also means that you and the other are in a relationship so deeply personal that you are aware that God is in the middle of it.  It is that kind of relationship that Paul wishes to have with Christ.  He wants to know Christ intimately, sharing everything with him. Paul has dedicated his entire life in order to achieve this intimate knowledge.  He is aware that, in this life, he will never completely achieve his dream.  Yet, that awareness will not keep him from the pursuit.

There are a few things that we should also note about this Paul’s advice to the Philippians. Despite his relegation of the central importance of his lineage and accomplishments to the compost pile, Paul acknowledges that they exist.  What has gone before us may not be the primary motivator of our dreams, but they have played a part in them. What is in the past is important. We should remember what we have done and what we have accomplished with appreciation and gratitude.  What we must remember not to do is allow that which has been done in the past to limit us in what is possible to do in the future.  We should keep our eyes on the prize of knowing Christ because with Christ as our ultimate guide, we will be led into so much more than we can begin to imagine. 

In some ways, Paul’s message of perseverance reminds me of my grandmother’s admonition to me so long ago.  We can’t expect to have a relationship with God in Christ by just waiting around for Jesus to ask us out.  We need to feel the strain in our chase after him.  We need to seek him in the people we encounter each day.  We need to set time aside for intimate conversation.  We need to make space for Christ’s presence in our daily routine.  Just like Paul and so many Christians who have gone before us we will tire and we will be discouraged.  However, we need not despair.  It is at that moment when we sink to our knees in exhaustion from our pursuits that Jesus will catch us and we will know him as he knows us.                 Amen.

Sermon for November 8, 2009
Proper 29, Year B
The Rev. Cricket Park
[Warning:  This sermon has been rated PG-13 for adult content. Listener discretion is advised.]

I’ve been told that Episcopalians find it easier to talk about sex than money.  Well, thank heaven we’ve been talking about money for the last four weeks because this morning’s reading from Ruth means we get to talk about the easy stuff!

The selection we heard from the Book of Ruth appears to be one of seduction based on need.  To achieve security for herself and her daughter-in-law, Naomi convinces Ruth to wait for her kinsman Boaz to fall asleep and then ‘uncover his feet’ and lie beside him and do what he tells her.  In the next paragraph, they are married and having children. 

But, there’s a lot going on – and a lot NOT going on between Ruth 3, verse 5 and Ruth 4, verse 1!  And our lectionary has left it all out.  So, let me take a moment to fill in the blanks.

Ruth does what Naomi tells her to do, at least at first.  She goes to Boaz and uncovers him. Boaz awakens in the middle of the night and finds Ruth at his “feet”.  Not waiting for him to give her instruction, she asks him to ‘cover her’.  Boaz calls Ruth ‘daughter’ and blesses her.  He covers her as she requests. In the morning he thanks her that she came to him and not some ‘hottie,’  gives her a huge gift of barley and sends her back to Naomi.

Okay…what to make of all of this.  First, there are word games – a bunch of them.  The first being that the word for next-of-kin (go-eel) and the word for redeemer (ga-el) in Hebrew are very similar.  Ruth, a widow without children, and her widowed mother-in-law, also without children, are desperately in need of security and safe haven.  They need to be connected with family.  A relationship between Ruth and Boaz would be a way out of their subsistence living; a relationship with “kinsman-redeemer” Boaz would be Ruth and Naomi’s salvation. 

The Hebrew word for cloak can also be interpreted as “wings”.  Boaz covering Ruth with his cloak could be understood as him taking her under his wing.

And, of course, there is absolutely no doubt of the sexual double entendres.  The use of the word feet as a euphemism for genitalia is a well-known literary device in the Hebrew Scriptures.  The threshing floor is associated elsewhere in scripture with extramarital activity (see Hosea 9:1). Therefore the re-covering of Ruth may very well point to a sexual encounter between the two.

The gift of barley certainly symbolizes Boaz’s seed that will be sown in consummating his marriage with Ruth, if it hasn’t already happened on the threshing floor. Ruth then takes the seed to Naomi, another symbol that she too will have children, even if it is symbolically through her daughter-in-law.

Now, having exposed all of this tawdry material, I have to say that in the commentaries I read in preparation for this sermon, the majority of scholars do not believe that anything ‘went on’ between Boaz and Ruth.  But, you have to admit, the suggestive storytelling and innuendo did get your attention, didn’t it. Madison Avenue uses sex to sell products and concepts for a reason. 

The most important concept that scholars identify in this story is Ruth’s faithfulness and commitment.  Ruth could have left Naomi to fend for herself.  In fact, Naomi begged her to do so.  But, Ruth refused saying “where you go I will go and where you lodge I will lodge.”  Ruth’s need for security may have been great, but Naomi’s was greater.  So great, in fact, that Ruth was willing to risk this encounter with Boaz for her mother-in-law.  This commitment and faithfulness is described by the narrator as chesed. This is significant, because chesed is normally attributed to God alone.  It is a term that means unlimited kindness or, what we might also call grace.

With this in mind, the encounter with Boaz need not be interpreted as one of sexuality as much as it was Ruth’s invitation to Boaz for an intimate relationship.  The story has all the elements required of intimacy.  Both persons were exposed, both were vulnerable.  Their dialogue revealed to each a part of themselves.  In a culture where we are bombarded with sexual imagery morning, noon, and night, and use the words sex and intimacy synonymously, it’s difficult for us to conceptualize them as separate.  But they are separate up to a point.  In fact, behavioral researcher Desmond Morris notes that while sexual intimacy might happen quickly between two individuals the ability for their relationship to endure depends on whether or not the couple move

through a series of steps that develops intimacy based on communal well-being and not just physical attraction. Intimate relationships need time to develop, and in many cases, can come to fruition short of sexual activity.

It should come as no surprise then to know that God wants us to be in relationship based on intimacy. God wishes to discover us and take us under wing.  It is God’s desire that we be vulnerable and transparent one to another and to those around us.  To do that God gives us sacramental avenues, Baptism and Eucharist most specifically, through which to experience God’s chesed. Sacramental acts also invite us into physical intimacy:  The waters of Baptism become the womb of our rebirth. We take the Body and Blood of Christ into our own bodies. 

In baptism we pray that God the Father will make the Spirit present daily in the lives of the baptized so that they will be aware of God’s presence in all things and in all places.  We then marked them as Christ’s forever.  God wants us not only to be aware that God exists, but that God infuses and penetrates everything around us.  There is no place for God to hide and therefore there is no place for us to hide from God.  We are both exposed.  We are both vulnerable.  Baptism is a communal act that brings us intimately into God’s being.

In the Eucharist, we pray that the Holy Spirit will descend and transform our gifts of bread and wine into the Body and Blood of Christ.  And then we take into our bodies the food of our salvation.  The fraction, that crack of the wafer (pulling apart of the loaf), is a constant reminder that God’s Son put himself on the line for the whole world, and that we are a part of that world for which he died.  

It is the Body of Christ that transforms us into the Church which is the Body of Christ.  At this table we are intimately sharing Christ with one another. We are being made known to God, to each other and to ourselves.

Anglican theologian Richard Hooker understood this. Remembered most as the creator of the “three-legged stool” of Anglicanism:  Scripture, tradition, and reason through experience, Hooker understood the deep intimacy of the sacraments as “mystical copulation.”  Now, before you go where I think you’re going, this understanding is metaphorical.  It is about Christ’s relationship with the church based on a concern for the common good.  It is about being mutually loving and respectfully relational. God invites us into intimacy.  We are not forced into it.  Intimacy with God in the context of the church is about being, as Bishop Breidenthal said in his convention address, committed to each another without being coercive.  It is about communication, wholeness, and unity with God and with one another.  It is a spiritual and physical reality. God’s presence is palpable as we join together corporately as the Body of Christ and take Christ into ourselves. 

This experience can be unsettling, but it is not to be feared. 

Remember, we are under God’s wing.  Our Kinsman-Redeemer awaits us with open arms each day of our present lives and into the next. So, be bold and accept the invitation to meet God at your threshing floor.  There the Holy Spirit will sweep away the chaff of your life and you may lie down in peace with the One who loves you beyond measure.

Easter Sunday 2009, Mark 16:1-9

The Rev. Stephen Smith, St. Patrick’s. Dublin, Ohio

          The Franklin Park Conservatory had a photo contest last year, and the winning picture is amazing.  The photographer has not revealed the secret to his method, but I was looking at the photograph a couple of days ago and I think I figured out how he might have done it. 

(For a link to the photo, go to: http://www.fpconservatory.org/2008.htm)

You see the image was created with an extreme fish-eye lens that exaggerates and curves the scene.  In the middle of the photograph is simply a sidewalk.  Then the sidewalk bends away from that center to the both the top and bottom of the picture.  At the top is a curved image of the palm house, and at the bottom a curved image of the wave sculpture outside the palm house.   And then to both sides are trees that curve away into sky.  In fact, the fish-eye lens so distorts the image that it exaggerates the curve of the earth.  The entire photo is surrounded by sky.   The sidewalk, palm house, sculpture and trees are captured in the middle as an oval-shaped tiny version of earth itself.

I think the photographer actually used a helicopter about 100 feet over the sidewalk and lowered the camera down to take that shot. 

It is beautiful.  Here is the microcosm of earth represented by one sidewalk at the Franklin Park Conservatory, and it immediately bends off into an infinite horizon.

The horizon is infinite.  Because of the curve of the earth, no matter where we stand, we always see it.  And if we walk to the point where we see the world drop off beyond our sight, we will always encounter a new horizon, just as far away, in all directions.  We could circumnavigate the globe and still the horizon would always be ahead of us.

It does not mean we never arrive at any particular point.  It just means that the earth’s curve is always beckoning us with the hint of something more, beyond our sight and grasp, out of reach, yet we know it’s there.

This idea of infinite horizon hit me not just because of the photo I saw but because of something I realized while reading the four Gospel accounts of Jesus’ resurrection.  In every encounter, Jesus is either on his way somewhere, or wants to send the disciples off somewhere.

Mark is the earliest of the four Gospels, the first account of the empty tomb.  Mark gives us no description of a resurrected Jesus, at all, only the empty tomb.  But what does the young man say to the women when they encounter the emptiness of the tomb?  That Jesus has gone on ahead of them to Galilee and there they will see him.  He’s gone on ahead.

In Luke’s Gospel, the disciples on the road to Emmaus encounter Jesus, but they don’t know it’s him until they ask him to stay with them and break bread.  And they had to ask him to stay because Luke tells us was going on ahead of them.  What’s more, once they do recognize him he vanishes from the sight.  Where did he go?  Presumably he went on ahead of them.

In Matthew’s Gospel, the risen Christ tells the disciples to get going—get out there and make disciples he says.

In John, he tells Mary Magdalene not to hold on to him because he is going on, on to the Father.

For a guy whom the women thought was dead and ready for burial, Jesus sure gets around.

But that’s why his resurrection reminds me so much of the horizon.  From the realms of the infinite hope we call heaven, the risen Christ calls to his disciples to move forward, to go on; to take themselves and this world closer and closer to God’s heavenly kingdom.

Go and meet him at the next stop, he tells them.  Go on ahead where he leads the way.  Go and tell the story.  Go and make disciples.  We encounter the risen Christ not just where we are, but where we can be. 

And we can be closer and closer to God’s kingdom.  Just as when we travel toward the horizon, we may find places and times when we arrive, so, too in following Jesus we sometimes arrive at the places to which he calls us--moments of joy, of accomplishment, of transformation, of insight, and of the newness of life that echoes all God hopes and has in store for us.  But just like those times when we arrive somewhere on land and look out to still see the beckoning of an infinite horizon, so too our journey with Christ is never fully complete until God’s kingdom and desire is complete, not just in heaven, but on earth as well.

And when our journey on this earth is through, the risen Christ reminds us that the infinite horizon still beckons on all sides.  We may have arrived at a particular point in life’s journey, but there is more.  The risen Christ goes on a head, and invites us to come along. With the risen Christ leading the way, the journey always continues.

Proper 27—Year A, November 9, 2008

The Rev. Stephen Smith, St. Patrick’s, Dublin

1 Thessalonians 4:13-18

Matthew 25:1-13

          I was driving in my car yesterday, turned on the radio, and I heard Christmas music.  I went to a store.  It was decorated for Christmas.  It’s November 9, and already the whole world is preparing for Christmas; and so are we here in the Church.  I know there are no decorations up.  We don’t sing Christmas carols yet.  But all the lessons talk about the second coming of Jesus.

          Yes, that’s one way we get ready for Christmas in the Church.  We prepare to celebrate the first advent of our Lord, by reminding ourselves of the second coming of our Lord.

          But wait a minute.  The images of the second coming that dominate our national imagination are hardly ones that resonate with the joy and celebration normally associated with the Christmas season.  From the recent popularity of the Left Behind series of books and movies, to the older Omen movies, and the even older book The Late Great Planet Earth, our images of the second coming have all been about tribulation, war, judgment and suffering.  If there is any grace in these portrayals it comes at the beginning when all the true believers are bodily snatched away to heaven in the rapture, and thus spared all the gory details of pain and suffering which follow.  Even the triumphant endings seem more about assuring us that the bad people get their due, then assuring as anything about God’s love and grace.

          Despite the popularity of these images and these ways of describing the second coming you need to know that all of this is a fairly recent development in Christian history.  This idea of the second coming of Christ beginning with the rapture of people bodily into heaven, followed by a time of intense tribulation, did not exist until the 1830s.  An Anglican priest in Ireland named John C. Darby invented the whole scenario and based it on these few verses from I Thessalonians we read in the service today.

          “For the Lord himself, with a cry of command, with the archangel's call and with the sound of God's trumpet, will descend from heaven, and the dead in Christ will rise first. Then we who are alive, who are left, will be caught up in the clouds together with them to meet the Lord in the air.”

          Darby coupled these verses with the apocalyptic visions from the Revelation to John and began to preach that the second coming of Christ was imminent, that the faithful would be raptured and spared, and the rest would suffer tribulation and judgment.  The Church of Ireland thought he was crazy and kicked him out. But you know where he received a great audience?  You guessed it—America.  He was a real hit on the tent rival preaching circuit.  Her started a whole new denomination, called the Plymouth Brethern—a dour bunch who don’t drink, smoke, dance or play cards, who have been convinced for the last 150 years that the second coming is right around the corner, and who have exported their ideas about the apocalypse to all of Christendom.  Just as a side note—Garrison Keilor grew up in the Plymouth Brethren Church.

          Actually, I think Darby’s interpretation of I Thessalonians misses the point.  He fails to understand the context of Paul writing to this early Christian community in Thessalonica.  In fact, this letter is the earliest writings of Paul we have in the New Testament.  Yes, Paul believed that a climatic return of Jesus and the end of history would take place in his lifetime.  It was probably a sad disappointment for him when this did not happen.  It even led to a change in his message.  You see in this early letter to the Church in Thessalonica there is a great deal of reference to the second coming.  But by the time we get to Paul’s last letter, the one to Rome, he barley mentions it.

          But let’s look carefully at the context in I Thessalonians.  From the short reading we have today it seems obvious that the people in this community are worried about those who have died.  Paul told them that Jesus was coming back soon.  Yet, members of the Church have died and the people are asking, “What will happen to them?”  Paul responds, “(they) will rise first.”  In other words, he is reassuring this community that those who have gone before will actually precede the living into the great kingdom of God.  It is as if he is saying, “They get to go in before you do.”  He is comforting people, not explaining theology.  This text is meant to be pastoral, not doctrinal.

          So, since we Anglicans rejected John C. Darby’s interpretation and kicked him out you can guess that he does not describe what we believe about the second coming of Christ.  We do believe in it.  In fact, every Eucharistic prayer in our prayer book has some reference to the second coming.  The most basic comes from prayer A when we say, “Christ has died, Christ is risen, Christ will come again.”  But what do we mean by saying “Christ will come again.”

          Actually, we have a lot of different interpretations of the second coming, but I want to highlight two.  As usual, our theology is contained in our prayer book.  So take out the prayer book and turn to page 127.  Here you find the service of Compline; prayers for the end of the day.  Now, turn to page 135. Here, at the end of this service is the Song of Simeon, a quote from Luke’s Gospel.  It comes from the account of Jesus being brought to the temple as an infant.  An old man named Simeon has been at the temple waiting for the Messiah because God told him he would see the Messiah before he died.  When Jesus and his parents come he realizes that now is the time and he sings out, “Lord you now have set your servant free, to go in peace as you have promised, for these eyes of mine have seen the savior . . .”

          This service of Compline, using this song at the end, has been around for centuries.  There is a reason why the Church in its wisdom included the Song of Simeon at the end of the prayers just before bed.  It reminds us that if we were paying attention during the day then somewhere we encountered the Christ.  We are meant to encounter the Christ in those we serve and those who share with us the love of God.  And Compline reminds us that this can be a daily occurrence.  In other words, the second coming of Christ can happen anytime we encounter the love of God by caring for others, or receiving that love from others.  The second coming can be daily. 

          But we do not shy away from the possibilities of judgment, tribulation, and even apocalypse.  Things fall apart and come to an end.  Our nation will one day run its course and fall like any other empire.  Our sun will one day explode and take planet earth with it.  Even our universe will one day collapse back in on itself and perhaps create another big bang.  Yes, one day the end will come.

          But when the end comes we believe we are still in God’s hands.  The Bible is like a novel about the conflict and the uncertainty of human life, but if we read ahead, to the end, we know God wins.  He will bring a new heaven and new earth for all his people.  And what does the Bible tell us about this new heaven and new earth?  The most common metaphors in scripture about the end times are not ones of judgment, war and tribulation.  The most common metaphors compare the coming kingdom to a wedding.

          And when the Bible talks about weddings it means fare more than the weekend extravaganzas we have in our day.  Yes, weddings are big, wild parties in our culture, with a rehearsal on Friday followed by a dinner, and a big blow-out party the next day.  But they were even bigger in Biblical times.  We get a hint of that in the parable of the wise and foolish bridesmaids.  The bridesmaids helped the bridegroom get ready for the wedding, sometimes for days in advance (no jokes about bachelor parties, please).  The parable is about whether or not the bridesmaids were ready for a big, long-lasting party or not.  Some of them did not take it seriously enough.  They weren’t ready to spend days partying and celebrating—their loss. 

As to the wedding celebrations themselves, they could go on for a week.  A wedding gave an excuse for people in a time of hardship and toil, to put down their work and just enjoy one another for an extended period of time.  And this is the image that appears most often when either the Old Testament or the New speaks about the consummation of God’s desires at the end of time.

In the end, that’s what we believe about the second coming—it is a wedding banquet at which God is the host, Jesus the bridegroom, and we get to enjoy one another for eternity.  It sounds a lot better than being snatched into the air and watching everyone left behind suffer.

Pentecost II/Proper 3          May 25, 2008                  The Rev’d Cricket Park

I thought I was being clever when I did the preaching schedule.  It could have been me last week instead of Stephen.  If I’d only looked a little further down the Lectionary Page calendar and read the lessons for today before I made the assignments, I could have had Trinity Sunday!  Given the choice between preaching on the edge of heresy with regard to the Trinity and preaching prophetically with regard to wealth and our relationship with God, heresy appears to be much less dangerous and much more appealing.  I set the schedule, though, and am compelled to walk the dangerous path!

I have to admit up front that this gospel frustrates me. I put myself in the picture, sitting there on the grass with the multitudes listening to Jesus. When he gets to this point in his address, I can feel my blood pressure rising.  In my mind’s eye I see myself leaving my blanket, grabbing Jesus by the tunic and beginning my rant:

“What are you thinking? Don’t worry? Are you kidding?  I’m trying to balance my budget, pay off my school loan, get my kid through college, keep my car from falling apart, and you want me to watch birds and consider lilies. Need I remind you, Jesus, that my doctor is constantly telling me what to and what not to eat and drink? It’s a little difficult to ignore her. I can’t watch television for more than 15 minutes before someone is telling me what new fashion I need to purchase and that I need to do it right now! Do you have any idea how many e-mails I get every day telling me I need to buy stuff – stuff I don’t need, stuff I can’t use, and then there’s all books I want and don’t have time to read! It’s impossible to not be stressed out and worried in the midst of all of this.  Don’t you understand?”

It starts to sink in. “Oh, Cricket,” I think. “You just yelled at Jesus Christ himself!  This was definitely a career-limiting move.”  In my imagination, I begin extracting my fingers from the homespun cloth that has been gathered into the recesses of my fists.

Still in my mind’s eye, but feeling more in reality all the time, I await the wrath of God Incarnate. I’ve read this gospel.  I know what’s about to happen to that fig tree.  That’s when Jesus looks into my eyes and whispers, “Why don’t you go sit down and think again about what I said.”  “Okay,” I whispered back.  And, I did.

I read the text again.  The first thing I noticed, once I’d calmed down and started breathing regularly, was that Jesus was trying to tell me that being wealthy, or not being wealthy, wasn’t the issue. Jesus was telling me – telling us – that the issue is about who and/or what we are to serve.  Of course, Jesus is telling us that we need to seek and serve God first.

Sometimes, this is easy.  It’s as easy as being here on Sunday, choosing to spend a small part of the first day of the week in Christian community, worshipping our God.  It’s as easy as getting paid and making that first check you write, or that first electronic transfer, the one that pays your pledge. 

But, most times it’s not easy.  It’s not easy to discipline ourselves to read scripture daily or to pray in order to center ourselves in God and not just ask for favors.  It’s not easy to admit our faults – and only our faults – and ask for forgiveness.  It isn’t easy to be a witness to our faith in environments that require us to proclaim the gospel more by example than with words. It isn’t easy to look into the eyes of someone who has just hurt us, someone who doesn’t appear to deserve our love, in order to seek and serve Christ in them.  It isn’t easy to let go of some of what we have in abundance in order than all may live in peace with dignity.

No, it isn’t easy.  But that’s what you and I have promised to do.  (If you don’t believe me, turn to pages 304-305 in the Book of Common Prayer!)  When we choose to do those things that aren’t easy, when we choose to follow our Baptismal covenant with intention, we are choosing to serve God and God’s kingdom first.  Choosing to serve God over wealth requires us to look at everything from a new perspective.

Personally, I think that was what this birds and lilies business is all about.  Of course God takes care of the birds and the lilies and the grass.  Of course we are more important to God than all of that.  However, I think that in asking us to consider these things, Jesus is asking us to slow down and take a moment to consider how we choose to serve God’s reign.

In my imaginary confrontation with him, Jesus didn’t turn to me and say “change your lifestyle” or “find a job that pays more” or “quit whining and get over it.”  No.  He said, “Sit down and think again.”  Aren’t the birds in the air being held up by the wind as they fly?  Don’t flowers bloom only for a season?  Didn’t today’s green grass look pale and dormant only weeks ago?  If God takes care of these creations through the seasons of their lives, certainly we can trust God to take care of us in ours. 

When we choose to trust God to take care of us, we can dare to dream new dreams and allow ourselves to venture into what we may, at first, perceive to be uncertain, or even dangerous, pathways. 

Living in God’s reign means living life with a new perspective.  It means seeking justice first and profit second. It means seeking equality for others, and that requires making room for others at our sacred tables.  It means recognizing when we are to soar aloft, when we are to bloom, and when our time has come to fade back into the earth like the grass. It means trusting God to take care of us each day in all of those seasons of our lives.

However, if we choose to put our faith into things that fade, to cling to what is temporary especially when it appears to be safe, we choose to live a life of worry and fail to experience being held aloft by the Spirit of the Living God.

Living out our baptismal promises requires more than prioritizing our time and talent and treasure.  It requires courage.  We find that courage by seeking and serving God through our worship of God, by trusting in God’s providence, and by caring for others.  So seek God’s kingdom first, my friends, for it is there you will find true peace, true confidence, and true serenity.  Amen.    

Good Friday 2008--The Rev. Cricket Park
St. Patrick’s, Dublin, Ohio

   It’s dangerous to read poetry.  Poetry messes with you.  It doesn’t stay hidden.  It creeps into your soul and lurks there, ready to surprise you when you least expect it. 
   Good Friday is a night for poetry.  It is the poet’s art to try to make sense of this insanity.  A man is dead.  His followers are scattered.  All seems lost.  Community appears destroyed.  Hope may as well be abandoned. 
   Abandon hope all ye who enter here. 
   That famous sign above the gateway to the Inferno says it all.  Dante captured in one sentence all the emotions Good Friday conveys.  It was no mistake that the character Dante and his companion and guide Virgil enter the gates of Upper Hell at 7 pm on Good Friday.  At this hour, I’m sure the disciples felt they had been abandoned.  At this hour, I’m sure Jesus knew he had been abandoned.  At this hour, my heart is heavy.  Community abandoned is the overarching theme of the first book of Dante’s Divine Comedy.
   Of course, we know that Purgatory and Paradise are in the character Dante’s future.  It is in these places where we come to understand community restored and community realized.  That’s not to say that the traveling is always easy or that there is no purgation to be endured and refinements to be considered.  Knowing one is saved doesn’t negate the consequences of our earthly choices.  We all must journey through Good Friday to get to Easter.
   The devise Dante the author used to describe this journey is made up of concentric circles.  I let my mind wander a bit about these circles.  Surely, I thought, there is an application to my own life here, an application that connects me to the Gospel.  And, of course there is.  The connection came in Jesus’ discourse with his disciples when they gathered in the upper room, when he said “I do not call you servants any longer, because the servant does not know what the master is doing; but I have called you friends.”
   Circles of friends.  That is where Dante and the Gospel and my life all intersect.  I have many, many circles of friends.  I suspect that you do too.  Much like the circles of the inferno, the cornices of purgatory, or the orbiting planets of paradise, my friendships range from a plethora of superficial necessities to the intimacy and trust shared by only a few.  It’s funny that they all share the term ‘friendship’ when the circles are so varied. 
   I don’t see these ‘circles’ as a mountain to circumnavigate or as the type that emanate from a central point like something dropped into a pond of water.  Rather, I experience them as a person whose hope and desire is to create space where community might flourish.  The circles are permeable – there are no fences.  People move in and out of them depending on the circumstances of our meeting.  I have always believed (yes, sometimes to my detriment) that I should treat others as friends and not simply acquaintances or business colleagues.  I treat people better – I more easily seek to serve Christ in them – if I call them friends.
   Having worked nationally as a meeting planner and within church circles, I am happy to say I have friends everywhere.  Admission to my friendship circles isn’t difficult.  A willingness to treat me with respect, to enjoy this amazing life we’ve been given to share with each other, and the capacity to laugh and have fun is all one needs.  For the most part, friendships for me are easily made and long-lived.
   However, there is one circle – the one that abides close to my heart – that I choose to protect.  Only a handful of people enter that circle.  In this holy place, I share my most secret self with my most trusted friends.  In it, they are invited, but not required, to share their most secret selves with me.  It is a place of great intimacy and vulnerability. Therefore it can be a place of great danger.  For when one exposes one’s heart, one chooses to risk losing everything.
   Jesus knew that.  That handful of people gathered in that upper room were the ones he’d called, healed, included, trusted, and loved beyond measure.  It was from that inner circle that his betrayer came.  You see, when we open up the inner circle of our hearts we not only invite people into intimate relationship with us, but we expose ourselves to the possibilities of betrayal, physical or psychological damage, and sometimes, death itself. 
   I do not have the capacity in my heart to open myself to everyone in that way.  Experience and prior betrayals have taught me to keep my heart and my Self protected.  Damage control is of utmost importance. 
   To be totally self-giving, totally self-sacrificing, is beyond my capability.  Even if I had the capability, I confess that I lack the desire.  I choose to close the door of my inmost self to all but a sacred, beloved few because the risk to my own being is just too great for me to bear.
   Ah…then comes poetic insight.  The cross of Jesus is the key to God’s inmost heart.  Through his death, Jesus opens for all of us the door to the inner most circle of God’s love.  Because of Jesus’ willingness to be vulnerable, because of his willingness to endure shame and death, because of his constant and self-giving love, we are counted among the beloved of God.  God’s circle envelopes the whole of creation. We can rest in Christ’s arms, confident in his love, assured that his love for us is eternal.  Even death cannot take this intimate reality from us. 
   Oh my friends, it is dangerous to read poetry.  When you allow it into your Self, the poet’s art creeps into your soul and lurks there, ready to surprise you when you least expect it.  But, if you let it in, let it become a part of you, what insights into the heart of God may come. 
   Thanks be to God.

The Rev. C. B. Park
Assistant Rector
 

          The Epiphany is thus, a story about the world, with all its differences, rejoicing in the new thing that God is doing.  Until all of us, all over the globe, can rejoice together in what God is doing among us then we have fallen short of the full meaning of the Epiphany.  God still has something left to say to us.  And until there is peace and a sensed of shared joy, we must hold our interpretations and our righteousness loosely and keep listening, because God is still speaking.
The Morning of Christmas

(with apologies to Clement C. Moore)

‘Twas the morning of Christmas, and all through God’s house

Not a creature was stirring, well, maybe a mouse.

The altar guild set up for the morning with care

They’re a meticulous group, and not one has blue hair!

The assistant priest’s family nestled all snug in their beds,

“We were at church all last night.  Don’t wake us!” they said.

So I grabbed my collar and walked toward the door

Stopping only to pet the dogs sprawled out on the floor.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter

I hurried outside to see what was the matter.

There in the yard, all covered with moss, was an angel

Who looked up and said “Help me, I’m lost.”

“That’s obvious,” I replied to my bedraggled guest.

“Why don’t you come in, sit a spell, and rest.”

“Oh, I couldn’t,” said she. “I’m in a bit of a bind.”

“I’m supposed to be announcing good news and – I’ve gotten behind.”

She brushed away something that looked like a cloud

And adjusted her wings and then wondered out loud,

“I must have taken a wrong turn over France. 

The Eiffel Tower was all lit up and I chose to glance

Backward for just a minute, and when I looked ‘round

The rest of the seraphim were not to be found.”

Amused, I told her that I understood.  People come and go

Quickly around here, not that they should.

We miss a lot when we’re hurried, like the lights on the tower,

Or the crisp morning air, or a carol’s gentle power.

We’ve had so much activity the past few weeks at church that

Christmas came not with a whisper – it was more like a lurch!

“Find ushers! Find acolytes! Try not to curse!

Plan liturgies! Write sermons! All choirs rehearse!

From the back of the narthex, to the top of the wall

Announce the birth of Jesus to one and to all.”

My angel guest looked at me half-bemused

“Then, I am too late,” she said. “You’ve heard the good news.”

You know about the Son of God coming to earth,

You’ve heard of his Mother, his miraculous birth.

I guess that kind of good news travels fast, travels far

With cell phones and the internet – who needs a star!”

Then she sat on the ground again and lowered her head,

“Angels really aren’t necessary, are they?” she said.

With a tear in my eye, I sat down in the moss

And offered my hand and replied “What a loss

It would be if no angels were near

To bring tidings of great joy throughout the year.

You’re the best part of the story, you help us remember

Christ is with us always, not just in December.

“We may not behold you with haloes or wings

But we all feel your presence – from shepherds to kings.

You were there that blessed night - the first indication,

raising voices in joy to God’s Incarnation.

Therefore, whenever we see Christ in each others’ eyes

You angels are with us – that’s no surprise!

So, take heart dear friend, don’t be blue. 

The story of Jesus isn’t right without you.”

She spoke not a word, but stood up with a start,

And straightened her wings, put a hand to her heart.

Then, with a wink, she took to the air,

Her halo shone brightly around her gray hair.

And I heard her exclaim, as she flew out of sight

Happy Christmas to all and to all through Twelfth Night!

Proper 15 Year C Luke 12:49-56, August 19, 2007

The Rev. Stephen Smith, St. Patrick’s, Dublin

          Today’s lessons are hard.  They’re just plain hard.  In the Hebrew Scriptures, both from Isaiah and the Psalm, we hear about the destruction of Israel.  The people of Israel are compared to a vineyard that failed to yield good fruit and so was trampled down.  It is a reminder of the implosion of the state of Israel into self-indulgence, a failure to care for the poor, and a lack of justice that led to its decline and eventual destruction by the kingdom of Assyria.

          The letter to the Hebrews tells of the great people of faith from days gone by.  Yet even in this lesson we read such edifying things as the story of some one being sawn in two.

          And in the Gospel, Jesus tells us that his coming into the world brings with it conflict; and not just any conflict, but the kind that divides even the closest relationships of families.

          It’s true.  When God reaches into the very core of our being and touches us there, it does things to us.  It turns our world upside down.  It transforms us. It stirs our emotions.  And sometimes it makes us crazy—crazy with our own certainty and self-righteousness; crazy with fear and rage toward anyone who might not agree with us or experience God in the same way we do.  And so conflict is inevitable.

          We only need look at our history, from the earliest days of Christianity, and we will see violence and conflict.  As Graham Nash said, “So many people have died in the name of Christ that I can’t believe it all.”

          In the first century, when Christianity was trying to decide if it was a sub-set of Judaism or a whole new thing, we fought. Jews and Christians became violent with one another and we have plenty of evidence of bloodshed, from Stephen to James, and many others.

          In the fourth century, when Christianity became the religion of the Roman Empire, the Christian majority began to have a loathing for its pagan past.  In Alexandria, a mob filled with rage and fury burned the library there and thousands of great works from antiquity were lost forever.

          During the time of the crusades we seethed with rage over who controlled the Holy Land.  We sent thousands of knights to battle the Muslims and so enflamed a conflict that still holds repercussions in our own day.

          In the split between the Protestants reformers and the Catholic Church, we engendered conflict that turned into war by the middle of the 17^th century.   And that war did not fully end until peace was reached in Northern Ireland in the late 20^th century.

          And even today, in the Anglican Communion, we fight over matters that some think are trivial and others see as the most vital and important issues facing the Church.

          Jesus told us we would have days like these.  He just did not tell us there would be so many.

          The author of the letter to Hebrews thought that the life, death and resurrection of Jesus had made all the difference in the universe; that all the witnesses and people of faith from his past had been waiting for and longing for his day, seeking a better country that would come only with the advent of the messiah.  It did not happen.  We remained imperfect human beings.  We can forgive the optimism of the author of the letter to the Hebrews.  It was the early days of Christianity and everyone was filled with hope for the future.  They did not yet have our bloody history.

          But Jesus’ life, death and resurrection did change things.  It did not make us any less prone to error and conflict, but opened the possibility for us to choose God’s kingdom more and more, and to turn away from those things that impede God’s goodness and God’s kingdom from impacting this world.

          So what we do see in history is that every time we sank to new lows as human beings in our violence and conflict in the name of religion, God raised up for us new witnesses, new voices of faith to get us back on track.

          In the first century the saints are too numerous to mention.  There was of course, Paul, and Peter, and also Stephen and James, and all the Apostles who joyfully spread the faith even in the face of conflict and sometimes martyrdom.

          In the fourth century, even though the library in Alexandria burned, God raised up Augustine.  He was the learned mind of the middle ages, and the study of his writings kept alive some level of learning.

          At the end of the crusades, St. Francis rose up to be a voice for peace and simplicity in a time of extravagance and war.  He was one of the few Christian leaders who actually sought dialogue and peace with Muslim leaders.

          The wars between Protestant and Catholic may have been bloody, but we still have the witness of Luther on one side and Ignatius Loyola on the other.  Both man taught us how to open ourselves up to the presence and love of God.

          And in our day, we still do not know who God will raise up to get us back on track.  But if our history and the letter to the Hebrews are any example, then we know God will raise up some one.  The saints of tomorrow are being made today.

          So, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let is press on with hope and with faith.  We trust that God’s goodness will win out in the end.