Tag: Episcopal

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Sermon: Unity in the Body and the Blood

A man goes to the doctor. He says, “Doc, you gotta check my leg. Something’s wrong. Put your ear up to my thigh; you’ll hear it!”

The doctor cautiously placed his ear to the man’s thigh only to hear, “Gimme 20 bucks; I really need 20 bucks.”

“I’ve never seen or heard anything like this before; how long has this been going on?” The doctor asked, his confusion growing by the second.

“That’s nothing, Doc; put your ear to my knee.”

The doctor put his ear to the man’s knee and heard it say, “Man, I really need fifty dollars; just lend me fifty bucks!!”

“Sir, I really don’t know what to tell you. I’ve never seen anything like this.” The doctor was dumbfounded.

“Wait, Doc, that’s not it. There’s more; just put your ear up to my ankle,” the man urged him.

The doctor did as the man said and was blown away to hear his ankle plead, “Please, I just need one hundred dollars. Lend me a hundred bucks, please, if you will.”

“I have no idea what to tell you,” the doctor said. “There’s nothing about it in my books,” he said as he frantically searched all his medical reference books. “I can make a well-educated guess, though.”

“Please, Doc, anything.”

The doctor says, “Based on life and all my previous experience, I believe your leg is broke in three places.”

Today’s reading from St. Paul’s letter to the Ephesians is a classic—the Armor of God. It is one of those you can read and feel as though you could take on the world—the shield of faith, the breastplate of righteousness, the sword of the Spirit. Hoorah. However, hidden amidst these beautiful words, Paul identifies his real intent for writing them, which is one of the overall themes of this letter. 

Paul says, “For our struggle is not against enemies of blood and flesh, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers of this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places.” “For our struggle is not against enemies of blood and flesh.” Paul could have left that bit out, but the trouble was those he was writing to were divided. They were struggling, fighting against one another. 

The fight was not only one the Ephesians were struggling with, but so were many of the other churches and even the twelve original Apostles. The fight was over whether or not a person needed to be a practicing Jew before they could become a Christian or could they convert to the faith, to Christianity, without taking on the burden of the Law of Moses—the prime example being whether or not a non-Jewish male could become a Christian without first being circumcised, a law that God had given Abraham even before Moses.

Some of the Jewish Christians said, “Yes, you must circumcised,” while the pagan converts, along with Paul, said, “No, it is not necessary.” It was enough of a fight that many believers would not worship together; therefore, Paul said, “Our struggle is not against enemies of blood and flesh, but against … the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places.” We are not here to fight against one another over trivialities but against true evil in the world. 

The issue would not be settled until the Council of Jerusalem in the year 48; however, Pual had provided a solution years before when he had written that original letter to the Ephesians. He said to them all, “You are no longer strangers and aliens, but you are fellow citizens with the saints and members of the household of God, built on the foundation of the apostles and prophets, Christ Jesus himself being the cornerstone, in whom the whole structure, being joined together, grows into a holy temple in the Lord.” (Ephesians 2:19-21) Put another way, your personal opinions and feelings about one another have no bearing on your life together. Why? Because you, as individuals and sects, are not the focal point. You are not the center of your life together. You will not find peace and unity by looking to one another. You will only find peace and unity in your life together by directing your attention solely to Jesus. 

Henri Nouwen writes, “When Jesus prays for unity, he asks his Father that those who believe in him, that is, in his full communion with the Father, will become part of that unity. I continue to see in myself and others how often we try to make unity among ourselves by focusing all our attention on each other and trying to find the place where we can feel united. But often we become disillusioned, realizing that no human being is capable of offering us what we most want. Such disillusionment can easily make us become bitter, cynical, demanding, even violent.” (The Road to Daybreak)

Is that true?

In the world today, there are over 8 billion people. Of that, roughly 2.2 billion are Christian. Christians are broken into three major denominations: Catholic, Orthodox, and Protestant. As I’ve shared with you, these are further divided and fractured, leaving us with an estimated 45,000 different Christian denominations. How did we fracture so far? By focusing on each other instead of focusing on Jesus, and we are witnessing the continuing fallout of our actions.

For example, consider the recent kerfuffle in Oklahoma and in our own community—the teaching of the Bible in public schools. You know my position and have heard what many others have said. Last week or the week before, the local Enid Public Schools superintendent held a meeting with the clergy of many different denominations. At that meeting, a majority of the clergy attending concluded that they did not want the Bible taught in public schools. I agreed, so I’m not making myself better than anyone else, but you heard it right—a bunch of preachers of the Gospel of Jesus Christ got together and decided they did not want the Bible to be taught in public schools. Honestly, that is about the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. 

Why wouldn’t a bunch of preachers not want—not scream for the Bible to be taught in school? Answer: we are broken and in a lot more than three places. Those same preachers, myself included, will tell you how much they love their brothers and sisters in Christ, how much they appreciate one another and their proclamation of the Gospel, and how they pray for all, but that’s really only whitewash. The truth is, this entire kerfuffle never was about the First Amendment, or the version of the Bible to be used, or whatever. The truth is we didn’t want the Bible taught in schools because we are broken, we are divided, and we don’t trust one another. We don’t trust one another to properly proclaim Jesus to the children, so we say, “Don’t you dare do it!” That’s pretty sad if you ask me.

We don’t trust one another because we are broken. We are broken because we look to one another instead of looking to Jesus, and this one sad example is a microcosm of what is happening all around us. 

By looking at one another and not at Jesus, in the words of Nouwen, we have become “bitter, cynical, demanding, [and] even violent.” Our unity and our community as a Christian people has become broken. We want to sing with Frank Sinatra, “I did it my way.” The emphasis is on “my” way, and the instant we say that, we take our eyes off Jesus. 

Today, in our Gospel, Jesus said, “Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood abide in me, and I in them.” This statement divided His followers, and some left, saying, “This teaching is difficult; who can accept it?’ Afterward, Jesus said to the Apostles, “‘Do you also wish to go away?” Jesus asked the Apostles, “Do you also want to take your eyes off me, to excommunicate yourself from the community of faith, and do it your way?”

“Simon Peter answered him, ‘Lord, to whom can we go? You have the words of eternal life. We have come to believe and know that you are the Holy One of God.’” Simon Peter said, “We are not taking our eyes off you. It is your body and your blood that makes us complete. Through our communion with you, we have unity with one another.”

Henri Nouwen said, “Jesus calls us to seek our unity in and through him. When we direct our inner attention not first of all to each other, but to God to whom we belong, then we will discover that in God we also belong to each other.”

As Jesus hung upon the Cross, Mary, John, and a few others gathered around. They were not concerned about what the other followers thought; they gave no consideration to the religious leaders and others who mocked the Savior, and they showed no regard to the government officials who carried out that terrible deed. When they gathered at the foot of the Cross, they only saw Jesus, His body and His blood. Let’s join with them in this Communion around the Cross, this Community of Faith, and with our eyes on Christ Jesus alone, work toward healing the brokenness that is all around. 

Let us pray:
Eternal Father,
we praise you for sending your Son
to be one of us and to save us.
Look upon your people with mercy,
for we are divided in so many ways,
and give us the Spirit of Jesus to make us one in love.
We ask this gift, loving Father,
through Jesus Christ our Lord.
Amen.

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Sermon: Proper 14 RCL B – “Miracles”

Photo by Shubhendu Mohanty on Unsplash

A guy is cycling through the country when he spots a sign that reads, “Talking Horse for Sale.” Intrigued, he goes to the stable to check it out. Not expecting much, he walks up to the horse and asks. “So, what have you done with your life?”

“I’ve led a full life,” the horse miraculously answers in a deep voice. “I was born in The Andes, where I herded for an entire village. Years later, I joined the mounted police force in New York and helped keep the city clean. And now, I spend my days giving free rides to underprivileged kids here in the country.”

The guy is flabbergasted. He turns to the horse’s owner and says, “This horse is a bonafide miracle! Why on earth would you want to get rid of such an incredible animal?”

The owner says, “Because he’s a liar! He never did any of that!”

“There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.” Albert Einstein

Are you a believer in miracles? Let’s find out. Take your red Book of Common Prayer and turn to page 461. What does it say at the bottom, next to the page number? “Ministration to the Sick.” Turn the page. Page 462. What does it say next to the page number? “At Time of Death.” Page 467. “At Time of Death.” And turn the page one more time. Page 468. What does it say? “Burial I.” If you believe in miracles, don’t you think at least one page between pages 467 and 468 is missing? One that says next to the page number, “Raising the Dead.” I’ve probably told you that before, probably about the same time I told you about the time there was a devastating drought in a farming community, so the town entire town gathered in a field to pray for rain, but only one little girl showed up with an umbrella. 

Perhaps the biggest problem is that we believe in miracles but don’t really believe they happen. We doubt. So, today, I’m going to ask you to set aside any doubt you might have for just a short time and believe that miracles do happen, in particular,  as they pertain to the Holy Eucharist, the bread and the wine, the Body and the Blood—the Blessed Sacrament. 

Garabandal is a small village in northern Spain and the site of a Marian apparition to four children. One of the girls, Conchita, was told by an angel that on July 18, 1962, he would give her communion from Heaven. There is a very grainy film of the event, but many witnesses. Conchita was kneeling, with her tongue out to receive as she would from a priest. Nothing was on her tongue. Then, the next moment, a host—the bread—appeared. She held it on her tongue for several minutes so that all could see. Miracle or sleight of hand—or tongue? You can pull that one up on the internet and see the film.

There are three very well-documented occurrences—and many other similar events—where the host (the bread) was found to be bleeding. According to the reports, these were medically examined, and it was shown that not only was it blood on the host, but that the host, in two of those cases, was cardiac tissue from the heart’s interior. In each case, the blood, some of which had not coagulated, even after an extended period of time, was found to be AB+. Just for fun, would you like to take a guess as to the blood type found on the Shroud of Turin? 

Some might just mark all this up as an ecclesiastical conspiracy theory, but remember, we’re setting aside our doubt for a short period and believing miracles really do occur. 

Last week, we discussed the various understandings of what happens with the bread and wine during the Eucharist. There was memorialism, consubstantiation, and transubstantiation. With memorialism, we said that the bread and wine remain bread and wine—nothing happens. In consubstantiation, the bread and wine truly become the Body and the Blood, but they maintain the outward appearance of bread and wine. And with transubstantiation, the bread and wine truly become the Body and Blood, and, regardless of appearance, are flesh and blood. 

You’ll also recall that when the bread and wine have been consecrated, they can be reserved in the Tabernacle. Our Tabernacle is the small cabinet under the red lamp. And some—myself included—believe it contains the Real Presence of Jesus. It is why we bow whenever we come before it.

In October 1995, St. John Paul II visited Baltimore. At one point during the visit, the Pope made a quick schedule change (I suppose being the Pope allows you to do that sort of thing.) Father Arthur Byrne wrote a brief article for the Garabandal Journal.

“On the evening of the last day of his October 1995 visit to the United States, John Paul II was scheduled to greet the seminarians at Saint Mary’s Seminary in Baltimore. It had been a very full day that began with a Mass at Oriole Park in Camden Yards, a parade through downtown streets, a visit to the Basilica of the Assumption, the first cathedral in the country, lunch at a local soup kitchen run by Catholic Charities; a prayer service at the Cathedral of Mary Our Queen in North Baltimore; and finally a quick stop at Saint Mary’s Seminary.

The schedule was tight, so the plan was simply to greet the seminarians while they stood outside on the steps. But the Pope made his way through their ranks and into the building. His plan was to first make a visit to the Blessed Sacrament [reserved in the Tabernacle in the chapel].

When his wishes were made known, security flew into action. They swept the building paying close attention to the chapel where the Pope would be praying. For this purpose, highly trained dogs were used to detect any person who might be present.

The dogs are trained to locate survivors in collapsed buildings after earthquakes and other disasters. These highly intelligent and eager dogs quickly went through the halls, offices, and classrooms and were then sent to the chapel. They went up and down the aisle, past the pews, and finally into the side chapel where the Blessed Sacrament is reserved.

Upon reaching the Tabernacle, the dogs sniffed, whined, pointed, and refused to leave, their attention riveted on the Tabernacle until called by their handlers. They were convinced that they discovered someone there.”

Did those dogs sense the Real Presence of Jesus in the Tabernacle, or had they gotten their wires crossed? You can pull up the pictures of the event on the internet. The internet doesn’t lie, after all.

Now, set aside your doubts for just a few more minutes. Jesus said, “I am the living bread that came down from heaven. Whoever eats of this bread will live forever; and the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh.” 

“The bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh.” Setting your doubts aside… what if He meant it? What if each Sunday we come into this place where we worship and pray and then, right up there on the altar, witness a bonafide miracle? A miracle that at its very heart is our God saying to us, “I desire to become a part of you. A part of you spiritually, yes, but more importantly, a part of you physically, that we may be one.”  

What if the words we speak during the Eucharistic Prayer aren’t just part of some ritual but are, in fact, Heaven—Jesus—breaking into this world?  What if, when you come forward to receive communion, God is truly present—truly there, giving Himself to you? What if, when you receive Him in the Eucharist, He truly, physically becomes a part of you? Finally, if all those “what ifs” are true, then what are the implications for your life? 

Eight days following the resurrection, Jesus appeared to his disciples in the upper room, and “Thomas was with them. Although the doors were locked, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.” Then he said to Thomas, “Put your finger here, and see my hands; and put out your hand, and place it in my side. Do not disbelieve—do not doubt—but believe.” I say to you, like Thomas when you put out your hands, you will touch Jesus. Do not disbelieve but believe.

Let us pray: Lord Jesus Christ, Son of the living God, Who, by the will of the Father, with the cooperation of the Holy Spirit, have by Your death given life to the world, deliver us by this Your Most Sacred Body and Blood from all our sins and from every evil. Make us always cling to Your commandments, and never permit us to be separated from You. Who with the same God the Father and the Holy Spirit, live and reign, world without end. Amen.

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Sermon: Transfiguration

Photo by Sam Loyd on Unsplash

In 1909, Robert Stanton wrote an article in the New York Times regarding a journey to the Grand Canyon. He wrote of its colors and immensity, “But look again! Those terrifying walls are moving, are changing! A new light is not only creeping over them, but is coming out from their very shadows. See those flattened slopes above the dark sandstone on top of granite; even at this very moment they are being colored in gorgeous stripes of horizontal layers of yellow, brown, white, green, purple. What means this wondrous change? Wherein lies this secret of the great canyon?”

I’ve also had the privilege of seeing this great site and know how the Grand Canyon is one of those places that can make you feel terribly small. Its size is breathtaking, not to mention the formations, colors, and how it was formed. The day I was there was mostly clear, except for these big, fluffy clouds were moving across the sky. As I looked down into the canyon, I could see the shadows of those clouds drifting along the canyon floor and then racing up the far cliffs. For quite a while, I just stood there watching those shadows moving along. It was beautiful and mesmerizing.

Today, our gospel reading calls us to the Transfiguration of our Lord. The glory of the Lord wasn’t shining down upon Jesus, but instead, the glory of the Lord was emanating from Him. Peter, James, and John – that inner circle – were there with Him, and they witnessed this glory of the Lord, but they were terrified. As they watched further, they saw Moses and Elijah standing with Jesus and talking to him. A sight I’m certain was far more beautiful and mesmerizing than the Grand Canyon.

In considering the Transfiguration, we can understand it as the perfection of man, the result of following the will of God, because Jesus – both God and man – followed the will of God the Father to its perfect end. Through this image of the transfigured Christ, we can see the glorification of humankind and the perfection to come in our own lives. Archbishop Michael Ramsey wrote, “The Transfiguration is the revelation of the potential spirituality of the earthly life in the highest outward form. Here the Lord, as Son of Man, gives the measure of the capacity of humanity, and shows that to which he leads all those who are united with him.” That is perhaps one of those elusive ideas. Something we don’t have the mental or spiritual capacity to grasp, yet through Christ, eternal transfiguration is our end and our reward.

That may seem a long way off, even unattainable for us today. We consider our current state and wonder if perhaps we’ll ever be good enough, but as a Christian people, our hope of salvation is not dependent upon our work. As the Psalmist declares:

Our help is in the name of the Lord,
who made heaven and earth.

God’s work may not yet be completed in us. We may not yet be there, but as the Apostle Paul wrote to the church in Philippi, “I am confident of this, that the one who began a good work among you will bring it to completion by the day of Jesus Christ.”

The glory the Transfigured Lord revealed on the mountain is not only a glimpse of His current state but also a glimpse of our future selves. The Lord is doing a great work in you. Rest assured that He will complete it.

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Sermon: Proper 13 RCL B – “Lobster”

Photo by Toa Heftiba on Unsplash

The Lord said to Moses, “These you may eat, of all that are in the waters. Everything in the waters that has fins and scales, whether in the seas or in the rivers, you may eat. But anything in the seas or the rivers that does not have fins and scales, of the swarming creatures in the waters and of the living creatures that are in the waters, is detestable to you. You shall regard them as detestable; you shall not eat any of their flesh, and you shall detest their carcasses. Everything in the waters that does not have fins and scales is detestable to you.” (Leviticus 11:9-12)

With that, out went the crawfish boils, shrimp boils, clam bakes, raw oyster eating contests, shark steaks, unagi handroll, baked octopus, and the quintessential crustacean—lobster. Poor ol’ Moses had no idea what he was missing out on, or he might have asked for a revision.

Crawdads are considered a poor man’s lobster, yet they are tasty, but I’ll still take lobster when I can afford it. However, lobster did not always hold such a prestigious spot on fine dining menus, far from it. Early on, lobster was called the cockroach of the sea because it was so plentiful.

On the northeast coast, the Native People would not eat them but used them as fertilizer for soil. They were the food of the poor, prisoners, and indentured servants, and at one point, those servants in the state of Massachusetts sued to limit the number of meals with lobster they could be served in a week. The poor that ate them would hide the shells because it was an embarrassment to be so poor that you were forced to eat lobster. However, when the railroad came along, lobster was served on the trains, and those who had never had it before fell in love with it. As the market for the crustacean increased, the supply decreased, which is when, around 1950, the lobster meal began the transformation and became a sign of prestige and not poverty.

I pulled up the web page for the Cape Porpoise Lobster Company in Kennebunkport, Maine, and found that you can purchase a twelve-pack of 2 1/2-pound lobsters for only $651.20. That would make for some pretty expensive fertilizer.

Something so common that it was thought of as the cockroach of the sea transformed into one of the sumptuous delicacies.

Starting with this week’s Gospel lesson and continuing for three more Sundays, we will read from John’s Gospel—specifically, chapter six. By the end of the month, when you hear the Gospel, you’ll begin to think, Didn’t we read that one last week? The reason is that each of these lessons deals with two very common things that are also transformed into something far greater—bread and wine. Jesus said, “I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.”

Given the part of the country we live in, I suspect that most of you have bitten down on a grain of wheat. It is not the easiest thing to chew up, so somewhere along the way, somebody said, Why don’t we grind this up? Make it easier to chew. That worked out well, but someone else said, Sure is dry. Maybe add some water. That, too, worked out, so I can imagine someone mixing up their flour and water, but just as they were about to sit down and eat, they had to rush off on some errand, so they set their bowl down next to the fire. When they returned, they said, What is that delicious smell? And discovered they had baked the first loaf of bread. According to the smart people, we’ve been doing that for at least 30,000 years and probably longer, and in one form or another, bread is a staple of every culture.

Both bread and wine are signs of society because neither is something you can casually put together. It varies depending on the recipe, but a loaf of bread contains about one pound of flour. Given our modern farming techniques, you will need ten square feet to grow enough wheat to produce that much flour. That requires a knowledge of agriculture, tools, and the ability to cultivate the land and the crops. Making wine is similar. It takes 600 to 800 grapes to make a bottle of wine. So, for both bread and wine, you’ve got to work for it. Even so, in the time of Jesus, bread and wine were common food and drink. They were the basics, yet, as with the common lobster, Jesus came along and transformed the bread and wine and made what was common into the extraordinary—His Body and Blood.

This is what takes place each time we celebrate the Eucharist. We take the ordinary—bread and wine—and through the prayers of the priest, the common is transformed. St. Justin Martyr, writing in the second century, says, “Not as ordinary bread or as ordinary drink do we partake of them, but just as, through the word of God, our savior Jesus Christ became incarnate and took upon himself flesh and blood for our salvation, so, we have been taught, the food which has been made the Eucharist by the prayer of his word, and which nourishes our flesh and blood by assimilation, is both the flesh and blood of that Jesus who was made flesh.” And that is not an easy teaching or something that everyone will believe.

For the Jews, Jesus saying that the bread and wine were his body and blood was deeply offensive. The fact that Jesus encouraged them to eat and drink even more so. For us today, with all our science and ability to look at things down to the molecular level, the bread and wine becoming the body and blood is simply unscientific. This is why today, we have different ways of understanding what is taking place, which fall into three main categories: memorialism, consubstantiation, and transubstantiation.

The details of these can become quite tedious, but the simple explanation works out like this:

Memorialism is the belief that at the prayers of the Eucharist, nothing really happens. The bread and wine remain bread and wine. Jesus said, “Do this in remembrance of me,” so by receiving the bread and the wine, we only remember this act.

Consubstantiation is the belief that the bread and wine retain the form of bread and wine but have, in fact, truly become the body and blood of Christ. This transformation is the real presence of Christ. In remembering Him, we have made Him present. Some of you may recall your Confirmation class where we looked at the word remembrance, translated from the Greek anamnesis—to make truly present.

The third understanding, transubstantiation, goes one step further. It states that Jesus is truly present but that the bread and wine have been transformed and are no longer bread and wine but flesh and blood.

Memorialism is a protestant understanding of the Eucharist, and transubstantiation is the Roman Catholic understanding. Consubstantiation is the best explanation of what is happening, and most Episcopalians, but not all, fall into that category. Is it something you must believe before receiving communion? No. However, we must understand that something is “different” about the bread and wine we receive at communion. As Justyn Martyr said, following the prayers, it is no longer ordinary bread and ordinary wine. Something common has become something extraordinary. If it were not so, why would St. Paul say to us, “Whoever, therefore, eats the bread or drinks the cup of the Lord in an unworthy manner will be guilty concerning the body and blood of the Lord. Let a person examine himself, then, and so eat of the bread and drink of the cup. For anyone who eats and drinks without discerning the body eats and drinks judgment on himself.” (1 Corinthians 11:27-29) It is a mystery how, but something is different following the prayers.

How can we enter more deeply into this mystery of the Body and Blood? Paul says, “Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.” (Hebrews 11:1) Seeing Christ in the bread and wine is not something I can teach you because it is a matter of faith. If you don’t believe, does that mean you don’t have any faith? No. Not at all. Should you receive communion if you don’t believe that the bread and wine become the body and blood? Of course, you should! But you should believe that it is not ordinary and that it is a gift given to you—not by me, not by the Church—but by Christ Jesus Himself.

Jesus said, “I am the bread of life,” and He gives you Himself in the bread and the wine so that He might become a part of you and you, Him, and so that we all may be one—so that we may be transformed from the common into the extraordinary in Him.

Let us pray: Grant, O merciful God, that your church, being gathered by your Holy Spirit into one, may show forth your power among all peoples, to the glory of your Name; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever. Amen.

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Sermon: Ignatius of Loyola

Ignatius of Loyola (as Superior General) by Francisco de Zurbarán

Born in 1491, Ignatius of Loyola began his life as a privileged young man.  In his autobiography, he writes, “Up to his twenty-sixth year, he was a man given over to the world’s vanities and special delight in the exercise of arms with a great and vain desire of winning glory.” That great desire for glory nearly cost him his life as he was severely injured in the battle of Pamplona in 1521. During this time of healing, he had a great spiritual awakening and understood that his life must be dedicated to the work of Jesus. No longer would he be a knight in the battles of the world, but he would become Christ’s knight in the battle for souls.

This dedication led him to write his Spiritual Exercises, a collection of prayers and exercises practiced over 30 days—a rather intense spiritual retreat if practiced fully. Next, following his education, he formed the Society of Jesus, the Jesuits, and became their first Superior General.

His prayers are some of the most beautiful. For example, to maintain his dedication to Christ, he wrote:

O my God, teach me to be generous,
teach me to serve you as I should,
to give without counting the cost,
to fight without fear of being wounded,
to work without seeking rest,
to labour without expecting any reward,
but the knowledge that I am doing your most holy will.

In our Gospel reading, we are told of one coming to Jesus and saying, “I will follow you, Lord; but let me first say farewell to those at my home.” Jesus told him, “No one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God.”

I imagine it is the same with our modern farming equipment as it was with oxen in the time of Jesus: If you keep turning to look where you have been instead of where you are going, you will have rows as crooked as Louisiana politicians. You must stay focused on what is ahead, not behind.

The same is very true when Christ calls someone into his service. He calls us to abandon our former way of life and turn to him. Focus on him and him alone. If we are constantly looking back, wondering what we might have done, thinking of the temptations of our old life, or even dwelling on past sins that God has long since forgiven, then—as Jesus states later in Luke’s Gospel—one like this cannot be my disciple.

For us, Ignatius of Loyola is one who put his hand to the plow and appears to have never even considered looking back. He is an example to us of what unwavering faith and dedication to Christ and his Church can accomplish. May we learn from him and emulate his life in keeping our focus on the Master.

A few prayers are near to my heart: Ave Maria/Hail Mary, The prayer to St. Michael the Archangel, and the Anima Christi, Soul of Christ, by Ignatius. I’ll conclude with it. Let us pray:

Soul of Christ, sanctify me.
Body of Christ, save me.
Water from the side of Christ, wash me.
Passion of Christ, strengthen me.
Good Jesus, hear me.
Within the wounds, shelter me.
From turning away, keep me.
From the evil one, protect me.
At the hour of my death, call me.
Into your presence lead me
to praise you with all your saints.
Forever and ever.
Amen.

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Sermon: Proper 12 RCL B – “The Boat”

Photo by Mickey O’neil on Unsplash

The report states that on Lake Isabella, in California, a couple were new to sailing. I’ve done a little sailing in the past and know that it requires a bit of instruction before you get out there on your own; however, with only a few hours, the couple purchased themselves a brand new 22-foot sailboat, invited friends, and headed out. Nothing went right. No matter how hard they tried, they couldn’t get the boat going. It was very sluggish in almost every maneuver, no matter how much wind was blowing or power they applied through the inboard motor. After about an hour of trying to make it go, they put into a nearby marina, thinking someone there could tell them what was wrong. A thorough topside check revealed everything was in perfect working condition. So, one of the marina guys jumped in the water to check underneath to see if perhaps the keel was not properly deployed or damaged. He came up choking on water, he was laughing so hard. Under the boat, still strapped securely in place, was the boat trailer! There was no problem with the boat. It was all operator error.

This is reportedly an urban legend, but a fella in Oregon says it really happened. The only difference, he didn’t have to get in the water. He could see the trailer’s license plate sticking up.

My friend St. Josemaría Escrivá wrote, “I never talk politics. I do not approve of committed Christians in the world forming a political-religious movement. That would be madness, even if it were motivated by a desire to spread the spirit of Christ in all the activities of men.” (Christ is Passing By, #153)

I happen to agree with that 100%. After almost a decade of preaching in this church, you may have noticed that I don’t fly anyone’s flag. If we were to fly a flag in this sanctuary, the only thing it would say is “Sinners in the hands of a Loving God,” because once you strip away all the rest, that is all that remains. As the Church and a Christian people, that is what we should be most concerned about. So today, I’m not planning on breaking my rule, but I would like to address how we engage in that realm of politics and what I believe the role of Christianity and the Church should be. If you all walk away unhappy with what I say, then I’ll feel like I did my job.

It begins by understanding truth. Is there such a thing as an ultimate truth? Yes. I’m sure some of you cross your fingers at specific points, but we speak what we believe as the ultimate truth when we confess our faith in the Creeds—“We believe in one God, the Father, the Almighty….” However, for many, the ultimate truth does not end there. We have what we believe are ultimate truths about everything from the abhorrent abomination of mint chocolate ice cream to questions of sexuality, end-of-life issues (euthanasia, assisted suicide, aging), immigration and refugees, the war in Ukraine, Israel, or Africa, etc.

The point is that we have the truth of our Creed, and then we have these other truths, which are often opinions or personal truths. This then leads to a great deal of the current strife we experience—if it is true for me, whether you agree with it or not, then it must unequivocally be true for you. If you disagree with me, which in many cases is the opinion or personal truth of the majority, you are a terrible person. When you say, “I’m going to remain silent,” well, then you are an evil person. This is also where Christianity comes in because Christians love this—someone will haul out the quote from Dietrich Bonhoeffer (even though he never said it): “Silence in the face of evil is itself evil: God will not hold us guiltless. Not to speak is to speak. Not to act is to act.” Therefore, if I speak an opinion or personal truth and you either a) disagree or b) do not stand up in support of my personal truth, then you’re going to hell. I say abortion is evil. You say that not supporting women’s rights is evil. Some choose to remain silent, so we both say they are evil. Ultimately, by calling someone evil, we are saying that God is on our side and we are the righteous. It is this arrogance that leads to heresies like the one we see on the rise today—Christian nationalism.

One of the great contemporary Anglican theologians, N.T. Wright states, “Christian nationalism is impoverished as it seeks a kingdom without a cross. It pursues a victory without mercy. It acclaims God’s love of power rather than the power of God’s love.” He then references our Gospel reading for today when he writes, “We must remember that Jesus refused those who wanted to ‘make him king’ by force just as much as he refused to become king by calling upon ‘twelve legions of angels.’ Jesus needs no army, arms, or armoured cavalry to bring about the kingdom of God. As such, we should resist Christian nationalism as giving a Christian facade to nakedly political, ethnocentric and impious ventures.”

Someone or some group begins to believe that they know the absolute truth, so they demand that this truth be not only believed by everyone but legislated and imposed on everyone. To make their case even more potent, they break the Second Commandment by taking the Lord’s Name in vain, claiming God is on their side. 

In the end, if we continue on this course, we will successfully destroy the nation and, worse, the Church. It is the hard lesson the German Lutherans learned as the Nazis began to rise to power—Christianity and government do not go together. It is why Jesus fled when they tried to make Him king. As the state is on the rise, it will make certain concessions to the Church to gain support; however, once the state has full power, it will expect the Church to make concessions to it, ultimately bringing the Church to a point where it will either compromise the Faith or be persecuted by the state they helped to build. You may be thinking, “Father John, you’ve been reading too many dystopian novels.” Maybe, but that’s not where this line of thought originates. It is coming from history. When the Church gets into bed with the state, it is always the Church that ends up getting short-sheeted.

Enough of that. What’s the point? If this is a problem, then what is the solution? 

The short version of a popular quote, generally attributed to G.K Chesterton, “We are all in the same boat.” The long version of that quote is, “We are all in the same boat in a stormy sea, and we owe each other a terrible loyalty.” However, today, it is popular to say, “We are all in the same storm but not the same boat.” It is then explained that some are in a little dingy without a paddle, others are on super yachts, and others ride around in aircraft carriers. At first, this appears to be a valid point, but it is also a lie. We are all in the same boat, but we’ve forgotten what Chesterton said, “We owe each other a terrible loyalty.” There is nothing wrong with the boat we are in, but someone forgot to detach the trailer. Our boat is good, but operator error is wreaking havoc, and we are the operator.

Whether in the Church or society, it is true (not opinion!), “The eye cannot say to the hand, ‘I don’t need you!’ And the head cannot say to the feet, ‘I don’t need you!’” (1 Corinthians 12:21) Our boat is fine, but so many seem to be under the impression that they’re the only ones in it. 

The storm on the rough waters has always been interpreted as life, and the boat has always represented the Church and our faith. The fantastic thing about that boat is that it has always accommodated and made room for everyone, including those who aren’t even Christian. Why? Because this boat is not of our making. It is of God’s making, and there is not a single person—not one—that our God desires to perish. Every person we allow in is a way of allowing Jesus in. You might not like them, you may disagree with everything they say, you may not want anything to do with them, but let them in the boat. Let Jesus in the boat. They are a child of God and you owe them a terrible loyalty. 

When the disciples saw Jesus walking on the water, they were terrified. Jesus said to them, “It is I; do not be afraid.” Some who walk up to the boat may be so different from us that we become afraid, but Jesus says the same thing to us, “Do not be afraid. Let them on the boat and we will all get safely to the other side.”

Let us pray: Lord Jesus, Son of God, our brother and our savior, we give you glory. Protect your Church and make us one. Send your Spirit to guide us and to lead us back to unity and love. Lord Jesus, we praise your holy name forever. Amen.

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Sermon: Mary Magdalene

Judith with the Head of Holophernes, by Cristofano Allori, 1613

The Book of Judith can be found in the Apocrypha, which means, according to Article 6 of the 39 Articles, “The Church doth read for example of life and instruction of manners; but yet doth it not apply them to establish any doctrine.”

The book begins, “It was the twelfth year of Nebuchadnezzar who reigned over the Assyrians in the great city of Nineveh,” which rabbinical scholars state is equivalent to saying, “A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away….”  In other words, it is historical fiction but a great read.

Israel is under attack from the Assyrians in the north. On their way to Jerusalem, the Assyrians conquer everyone in their path, finally coming up against the Jewish city of Bethulia.

The general of the Assyrian army, Holofernes, is all for immediately marching in and conquering it. Still, the Edomites, who are with him, convince him to lay siege instead by cutting off the water supply. They do, and they wait.

After thirty-five days, the people of Bethulia are ready to surrender, but the mayor convinces them to wait five more days, saying that if God did not rescue them after 40 days, he would surrender.

It is then that Judith goes into action. She plans to save her people by whatever means necessary, and the plan requires her to get safely into the Assyrian camp. She will need to lie to do this, so she prays that she can lie well.  We heard part of it today, including the words, “King of all your creation, hear my prayer! Make my deceitful words bring wound and bruise on those who have planned cruel things against your covenant.”  

She is very beautiful, so to accentuate that beauty, she dresses seductively. Then, leaving the city with her maidservant, she allows herself to be taken captive. Because of her beauty, they do not harm her, and when she lies, saying she has information on how to defeat the Israelites, she is taken to Holofernes. Beautiful woman encounters lustful general. Care to guess what the general is thinking?  Yahtzee!  

Judith’s plan works, but she keeps the general’s desire at bay for several days. Eventually, she declares that she will give in to his wishes. He is so excited by the prospect that he celebrates. In fact, he celebrates so much with liquor that he passes out. Scripture picks up: “With that, she went up to the bedpost by Holofernes’ head and took down his scimitar; coming closer to the bed, she caught him by the hair and said, ‘Make me strong today, Lord God of Israel!’ Twice she struck at his neck with all her might and cut off his head.” Then, after escaping through the enemy camps, she returned to the city. She said to the people, “Praise God! Praise him! Praise the God who has not withdrawn his mercy from the House of Israel but has shattered our enemies by my hand tonight!” She then had them place the head of the general on the city gate, which struck fear into the hearts of the Assyrians, which led to great chaos. The Israelites used the chaos, attacked, and drove the Assyrians from their land. I think Judith would have made a good Marine.

Interestingly, this story is tied to the feast of St. Mary Magdalene, which we celebrate today. Why? Because they are both declaring a victory. Judith says, “Praise God! Praise him! Praise the God who has not withdrawn his mercy from the House of Israel but has shattered our enemies.” She is declaring salvation from an earthly enemy. Mary Magdalene says, “I have seen the Lord.” She declares salvation for us all—our salvation over sin and death. In essence, Mary is saying, “Praise God!  Praise Him! Praise the God who I have seen, who has conquered death, once and for all, and brought salvation to all God’s children.”

With her, we say, “Praise God for our salvation through Christ Jesus.”

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Sermon: Proper 11 RCL B – “Come Away with Me”

Photo by Ante Hamersmit on Unsplash

Little Johnny got himself a drum for his birthday. It was one like the drummer boy in the infantry might have carried into battle, and Johnny loved his drum. He banged on the drum at home, and even worse; he would go up and down the neighborhood streets making all kinds of racket.  No amount of coaxing would get him to stop, and it was for lack of trying. 

One person told Johnny that he would if he continued to make so much noise, perforate his eardrums. This reasoning was too advanced for Johnny, who was neither a scientist nor a scholar.

A second person told Johnny that playing the drum was a special activity and should be carried out only on rare occasions. A third person offered the neighbors earplugs; a fourth gave Johnny a book; a fifth gave him meditation exercises to make him placid and docile. Nothing worked. Johnny banged away on his drum.

One day, Johnny’s grandpa came to town and wondered what all of the ruckus was about. He surveyed the situation, then went out to the garage. When he came back, he had a hammer and a chisel. He set them on the table in front of Johnny. As he turned to walk away, he said, “I wonder what’s on the inside of that drum?”

Grandpa was nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize.

You are familiar with the story of Elijah, but for a refresher… Elijah showed the strength of the Lord and put to shame the 450 priests of Baal. When the people saw this, they had those priests put to death. When Jezebel, the wife of King Ahab, heard this, she became furious and sent word to Elijah, essentially saying, “I’m coming for you.” Fearing for his life, Elijah ran. Scripture says he “went a day’s journey into the wilderness and came and sat down under a broom tree. And he asked that he might die, saying, ‘It is enough; now, O Lord, take away my life, for I am no better than my fathers.’” (1 Kings 19:4)

Elijah worked tirelessly to convince and convert the people and the king to cease their worship of Baal and follow God. He had performed miracles. He had preached. For his efforts, he received a death sentence. He had done all that he knew to do and was tired, so he said to God, “I’m done. I don’t care anymore. Kill me and let me rest.” 

The drum of Elijah’s life had been pounding and pounding. He had no peace, which drove him to the point of not caring. Not caring for his own life and not really caring anymore about what God had called him to.

We are told that when Elijah reached this point, he had just quit, lay down under a tree, and gone to sleep. After a while, an angel of the Lord came to him, woke him up, and gave him something to eat. Then Elijah slept a bit more. And after another while, the angel of the Lord came to him again, fixed a meal, and woke Elijah, saying, “Arise and eat, for the journey is too great for you.” Elijah did and then continued on his journey to Mt. Horeb, where he would encounter God in the still, small voice. There’s a funny meme that’s made its way around the internet. It reads, “This is your gentle reminder that one time in the Bible, Elijah was like, ‘God, I’m so mad! I want to die!’ So God said, ‘Here’s some food. Why don’t you have a nap?’ So Elijah slept, ate, and decided things weren’t so bad.” The conclusion, “Never underestimate the spiritual power of a nap and a snack.” 

The angel of the Lord said to Elijah, “Arise and eat, for the journey is too great for you.” Through the angel, the messenger, the Lord said, “All that you’ve been through really is too much. I understand that, but I need you to continue in this work, so for a time, quiet the drum of your life and rest for a minute.”

Last week, we spoke about desiring God above all things and how God makes Himself available to us when we do. The Lord says, “You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart.” (Jeremiah 29:13) The Psalmist writes, “The Lord is near to all who call on him, to all who call on him in truth.” (Psalm 145:18) However, there are times in our lives when the drum is beating so quickly and so loudly that we say, “I desire you Lord, but I don’t have the time to seek you. The banging of the drum of my life is so “loud” that I can’t shout above all the racket to call on You.” Like Elijah, the journey is too much for us, and we may reach a point where we love God, but we just can’t find the energy to care.

Thomas Merton writes, “We live in a state of constant semi-attention to the sound of voices, music, traffic, or the generalized noise of what goes on all the time around us. This keeps us immersed in a flood of racket and words… Resigned and indifferent, we share semiconsciously in the mindless mind of Muzak and radio commercial which pass for ‘reality.’” 

The beat of the drum becomes so loud that it drives out everything else and makes us indifferent to many things, including God. This is the “demon of acedia, [defined as] the restless spiritual boredom and disgust with existence that would lure one from prayer into ultimately dissatisfying distractions… and eventually away from God.” (The New Ressourcement, “Thomas Aquinas, the ‘Nones,’ and the ‘Dones’”)

When the beat of the drum, the Muzak, life, the journey becomes too much, the acedia sets in, and we shut down and may even shut off our connection to God. When it happened to Elijah, God said, “Here, have a cookie. Take a nap. Find some silence and rest for a bit. You’ll feel better and then be able to continue.” He did, and it worked. Jesus did the same thing with His disciples after they had been going strong.

We do not know how long they were gone, but prior to our Gospel reading today, we know that Jesus sent the disciples out, two-by-two, and “they went out and proclaimed that people should repent.  And they cast out many demons and anointed with oil many who were sick and healed them.” (Mark 6:12-13) Today’s Gospel begins with their return from this mission trip, and Jesus says to them, “‘Come away to a deserted place all by yourselves and rest a while.’ For many were coming and going, and they had no leisure even to eat. And they went away in the boat to a deserted place by themselves.”

The Lord knew how loudly the drum had been beating in the disciples’ ears. He knew they were exhausted, so instead of allowing them to reach the used-up condition of Elijah, He said to them, “Come away to a quiet place with me. Let’s have a cookie, maybe take a nap, and ‘hang out’ for a while.” As with Elijah, who encountered God in the stillness of the mountain, the disciples were also able to have an encounter with Jesus in the stillness of that place. Sure, the crowds eventually find them, and they all have to go back to work, but for a time, like in the beginning, they were allowed to walk with God in the Garden—to be with one another and enjoy each other’s company and fellowship. In doing so, God was able to heal their weary bodies and souls.

When was the last time you just ‘hung out’ with God? When was the last time you went away to a quiet place and rested in Him? Jesus says, “Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” (Matthew 11:28) This rest is a gift offered to us today—the gift of healing, renewal, and refreshment. Give yourself permission to stop. Grab a hammer and a chisel and go to work on that drum. Have a cookie, lie down in the green pasture beside the still waters, take a nap, and spend time being with God. By doing so, He will revive your soul. Like Elijah and the disciples, you can be renewed and then continue with the work He has set before you.

Edwina Gateley is a speaker and spiritual writer. She wrote the poem, Let Your God Love You. It makes for a beautiful prayer.

Let us pray: 

Be silent.
Be still.
Alone.
Empty
Before your God.
Say nothing.
Ask nothing.
Be silent.
Be still.
Let your God look upon you.
That is all.
God knows.
God understands.
God loves you
With an enormous love,
And only wants
To look upon you
With that love.
Quiet.
Still.
Be.

Let your God—
Love you.

(Psalms of a Laywoman, p.59)

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Sermon: William White

The first Holy Communion of the Church of England was held in 1607 in Jamestown, Virginia.  It was a slow start, but the church began to take hold and was quite successful; however, because of its ties to England, that changed following America’s independence.  According to Powell Mills Dawley in Our Christian Heritage, “the American Revolution left the Anglican parishes shattered, stripped of most of their financial support, weakened by the flight of many clergy and thousands of members, with a number of buildings destroyed and property lost.”

Not only did the citizens of the new United States abandon the church, but in a very real sense, the Church of England did as well.  The primary issue was that we had no American Bishops.  As you know, a Bishop is required to Confirm, ordain clergy, and it takes three Bishops to consecrate a new Bishop.  Therefore, if a person wanted to be ordained a priest, they had to make the long and perilous trip to England.

To remedy the situation, a few devoted men took up the cause.  Among them were Samuel Seabury, Samuel Provoost, the person we celebrate today, William White, and James Madison – all four of which made the journey to England to be consecrated.  Then, having enough American Bishops, Thomas Clagget was consecrated Bishop in New York, and the Church in America could function separately from the Church of England.  In 1789 – the first General Convention – under these men’s leadership, specifically William White, the American Episcopal Church was fully organized. 

William White served as our first and fourth presiding Bishop in 1789 and from 1795 to 1836.  In addition, he served for 57 years as the rector of St. Peter and Christ Church in Philadelphia.  He died in 1836.

A lengthy obituary devoted to Bishop White appeared in the National Gazette and Literary Register.  In part, it described his character, “…[T]he duties of the several important relations in which he stood to society were performed with undeviating correctness and suavity; he possessed the rare merit of winning the respect and love of an entire community to which he was an ornament and a blessing. His piety was deep and unfeigned; his walking humble yet dignified; his acquirements profound; in his mind the welfare of the Christian church was always the prominent consideration…He was one of those examples of steady virtue sent upon earth by Divine Providence, as if to prove how near the great pattern of perfection it is permitted to approach.”

In our Gospel reading today, Jesus asked St. Peter, “Simon, son of John, do you love me more than these?” He said to him, “Yes, Lord; you know that I love you.” Jesus said to him, “Feed my lambs.”  This was the restoration of St. Peter after he denied Jesus three times the night before Jesus was crucified.  It is also a command given to all who would be followers of Jesus – “Feed my sheep.”  In those three words, God calls us all, lay and ordained, to care for those we encounter.  To care for them in both their physical and spiritual needs.  For us in the Episcopal Church, William White is an exemplary role model for us to emulate.  When you consider what it means to be true and faithful to the Church, you need only consider him to find the “great pattern of perfection” that leads to becoming a faithful servant to God and His One Holy Catholic and Apostolic Church. 

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