Tag: Episcopal

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Sermon: Advent 4 RCL A – “Perspective”

Photo by Philip Myrtorp on Unsplash

A new soldier was on sentry duty at the main gate of a military installation. His orders were clear. No car was to enter unless it had a special sticker on the windshield. A big Army car came up with a general seated in the back. The sentry said, “Halt, who goes there?”

The chauffeur, a corporal, said, “General Wheeler.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t let you through. You’ve got to have a sticker on the windshield.”

The general said to the chauffeur, “Drive on!”

The sentry said, “Hold it! You really can’t come through. If anyone attempts to drive in without a sticker, I have orders to shoot.”

The general barked at the chauffeur, “I’m telling you, son, drive on!”

The sentry walked up to the driver’s window and said quietly to the chauffeur, “I’m new at this. Do I shoot you or the general?”

One article states, “We each have a uniquely valuable perspective on life—a lens through which we interpret our lives. Through our perspective, we define what makes sense to us, which is differentiated from how others see and experience life.” (Source) From the general’s perspective, the world was at his command, and he could do what he wanted regardless of the rule. However, the chauffeur’s perspective was likely considerably different at that moment. The lens through which he was interpreting the situation was the barrel of a gun. 

The perspectives we hold are formed by many factors—environment, age, situation, knowledge, etc.—so our perspective is a combination of all these things and is something that is learned over time—according to the article—“Our perspective is arguably the single greatest aspect of our uniqueness.” Our fingerprints are as unique as each individual snowflake, and so are our perspectives. 

What’s interesting is when our perspective—the lens through which we view the world—encounters faith. For example, consider St. Peter.

The disciples are crossing the sea in their boat when they see Jesus walking on the water. At first, they are terrified, but then Jesus identifies himself, “Take heart; it is I. Do not be afraid.” Hearing this, Peter says, “Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water.” And Jesus said, “Come.” And we know that Peter had faith, got out of the boat, and walked on the water, but then his perspective changed: “when he saw the wind, he was afraid, and beginning to sink he cried out, ‘Lord, save me.’” I firmly believe that Jesus laughed heartily when he said to soaking-wet Peter, “O you of little faith, why did you doubt?”

From his perspective, Peter, a fisherman who grew up working on the water, walking on water was impossible, yet through faith—at least for a few steps—Peter held a different perspective. Through faith, what he perceived to be impossible, was suddenly possible. When he reverted to his original perspective—doubt—he sank, but for those few steps, there was faith.

If it was night and all the lights were out, and these four candles were all the light in the room, some’s perspectives would still only show them darkness even though there was light.  They would see shadows in the corners and blackness under and behind objects. Yet others would see the hope of light. Even if the darkness were vast around them, they would see the light as a way forward. And many others would see both. Fear of the dark, but thankful there is at least a little light to keep some of the darkness at bay. You and I are somewhere on that spectrum. It depends on our perspective, but more importantly, it depends on our faith.

We read of Joseph in our Gospel lesson. Mary was found to be with child before they were married. He had not been with her, so he assumed another man had, so he planned to call off the wedding. Joseph was a kind man, but even so, he was not prepared to be with someone who had been unfaithful. Joseph looked around him and saw the dark and the shadows, and then the angel of the Lord came to him in a dream and said, “Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife.” Joseph was shown the light but was his perspective going to change, or would he remain afraid of the dark—what will others say? How can I ever trust her? Was I really only dreaming and so many more shadows? Yet, another variable came to bear when he woke from his sleep: faith. Through faith, his perspective changed, and “he did as the angel of the Lord commanded him; he took her as his wife.”

There is a story about a train traveling through the night in a violent rainstorm. 

The lightning flashes were almost blinding, the rain hitting the windows was deafening, and the strong gust winds rocked the train from side to side. 

The passengers could see the rising water along the tracks when the lightning flashed and lit up the darkness. 

The engineer—the driver of the train— was unaware, but the storm and rising water created great terror in the minds of the passengers, so the engineer just kept going.

Several passengers noticed that through all the noise, lightning, and wind, one of the passengers, a little girl, seemed to be at perfect peace. 

The adult passengers couldn’t figure out why she was so calm. Finally, one passenger asked her, “How can you be so calm when all the rest of us are so worried about what might happen?”

The girl smiled and said, “My father is the engineer.”

Storms. Lightning. Rising waters. Darkness. Shadows. Death. Fear. “My father is the engineer.” Faith.

Joseph experienced those same fears, that darkness, but when he awoke, he had faith and said in his heart, “My father is the engineer.” Faith changed his perspective.

In the opening verses of his Gospel, St. John wrote, “The true light, which gives light to everyone, was coming into the world. He—Jesus—was in the world, and the world was made through him, yet the world did not know him. He came to his own, and his own people did not receive him. But to all who did receive him, who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God, who were born, not of blood nor of the will of the flesh nor of the will of man, but of God.”

Jesus, the true Light, came into the world, but many—even though they saw this light—continued to see shadows and darkness all around them. Those with faith received him and became children of God.

I’m not Pollyanna. I am very much aware of the shadows and darkness around us, but we cannot spend our lives dwelling in it. We must, through faith, change our perspective and see this light that has come into the world. It will not eradicate the darkness, but it will show us the way through the dark valley unto the Kingdom of our God… but not just that. It will also show us the way to the Kingdom of our God that is made manifest today, for his name is Emmanuel, which does not mean “God will be with us.” No. His name is Emmanuel, which means “God is with us.” And His Father is the Engineer.

Let us pray: Father in heaven, our hearts desire the warmth of your love, and our minds are searching for the light of your Word. Increase our longing for Christ our Savior and give us the strength to grow in love, that the dawn of his coming may find us rejoicing in his presence and welcoming the light of his truth. We ask this in the name of Jesus the Lord. Amen.

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Sermon: John of the Cross

St. John of the Cross died on this day in 1591 at the age of 49. He was a true friend and contemporary of Teresa of Avila. Together, they worked to reform the Carmelite order, which they were a part of, enforcing a much stricter application of the rule. All did not appreciate that enforcement, and John was persecuted and eventually imprisoned by—not the authorities, but by fellow monks who disagreed with him.

His life is an example to us, but the writings he left behind are perhaps his greatest gifts. Of these, he is best know for, Dark Night of the Soul. It began with the writing of a poem, but then he was asked by fellow monks—those who did not want to throw into prison—to write a commentary explaining the work. The commentary of the first three stanzas of eight is all that remains (if there ever was more) and is practical in its approach to prayer.

Today, I would like to share the poem with you. Many translations are available; I’m not sure who gave us this one. When reading the poem, think of prayer. Think of entering into a place of darkness where without light, the fire burning in your heart is your guide that leads you to union with God. Once with God, it is not about speaking to Him but being with him.

Into the darkness of the night
With heart ache kindled into love,
Oh blessed chance!
I stole me forth unseen,
My house being wrapped in sleep.

Into the darkness, and yet safe
By secret stair and in disguise,
Oh gladsome hap!
In darkness, and in secret I crept forth,
My house being wrapt in sleep.

Into the happy night
In secret, seen of none,
Nor saw I ought,
Without, or other light or guide,
Save that which in my heart did burn.

This fire it was that guided me
More certainly than midday sun,
Where he did wait,
He that I knew imprinted on my heart,
In place, where none appeared.

Oh Night, that led me, guiding night,
Oh Night far sweeter than the Dawn;
Oh Night, that did so then unite
The Loved with his Beloved,
Transforming Lover in Beloved.

On my blossoming breast,
Alone for him entire was kept,
He fell asleep,
Whilst I caressed,
And fanned him with the cedar fan.

The breeze from forth the battlements,
As then it tossed his hair about,
With his fair hand
He touched me lightly on the neck,
And reft me of my senses in a swoon.

I lay quite still, all mem’ry lost,
I leaned my face upon my Loved One’s breast;
I knew no more, in sweet abandonment
I cast away my care,
And left it all forgot amidst the lilies fair.

Jesus said, “I still have many things to say to you, but you cannot bear them now. When the Spirit of truth comes, he will guide you into all the truth; for he will not speak on his own, but will speak whatever he hears, and he will declare to you the things that are to come.” If we are to hear and know those things the Spirit would teach us, then in prayer, we must follow the flame of our heart, which will guide us into that union with God where we can learn even more about our Savior.

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Advent Devotional: Prepare

This devotional was for The Episcopal Church of the Resurrection’s annual Advent Devotional series.

Now the Feast of Unleavened Bread drew near, which is called the Passover. And the chief priests and the scribes were seeking how to put him to death, for they feared the people.

Then Satan entered into Judas called Iscariot, who was of the number of the twelve. He went away and conferred with the chief priests and officers how he might betray him to them. And they were glad, and agreed to give him money. So he consented and sought an opportunity to betray him to them in the absence of a crowd.

Then came the day of Unleavened Bread, on which the Passover lamb had to be sacrificed. So Jesus sent Peter and John, saying, “Go and prepare the Passover for us, that we may eat it.” They said to him, “Where will you have us prepare it?” He said to them, “Behold, when you have entered the city, a man carrying a jar of water will meet you. Follow him into the house that he enters and tell the master of the house, ‘The Teacher says to you, Where is the guest room, where I may eat the Passover with my disciples?’ And he will show you a large upper room furnished; prepare it there.” And they went and found it just as he had told them, and they prepared the Passover.

-Luke 22:1-13 (ESV)

Prepare

The Passover that Jesus asked John and Peter to prepare for is the greatest of festivals during the Jewish year. It is a memorial of the night when the tenth plague swept through Egypt, killing all the firstborn of the Egyptians but “passing over” the Jews. In the process of establishing the festival (Exodus 12), God gave the Jews several laws on how to prepare for and celebrate the festival in the subsequent years. For example, one of these laws prescribed the removal of all leaven from the home. Over the centuries, these laws became more strict and codified, leaving no room for error. Not all are as fastidious as others in adhering to the requirements, yet one author reports, “We have a pious friend in Israel who airs out every book in her home in case there should be any bread crumbs in them.” (Source)

Although not prescribed by Holy Scripture, the Church has established two seasons of preparation: Advent and Lent. In Advent, we prepare to celebrate Jesus’ birth and to prepare for his second coming, and in Lent, we prepare to celebrate Christ’s victory over death. With regard to Advent, Dietrich Bonhoeffer wrote, “There are only two places where the powerful and great in this world lose their courage, tremble in the depths of their souls, and become truly afraid. These are the manger and the cross of Jesus Christ.” (God Is in the Manger: Reflections on Advent and Christmas, p.26) If that be the case—which it should be!—then we should not enter lightly into our encounter with him in the manger, but instead, we should seek out the “old leaven, the leaven of malice and evil” (1 Corinthians 5:8) and prepare our hearts so that we might humbly kneel before our Lord and King.

In 2008, during his general audience, John Paul II said,

The liturgy of Advent, filled with constant allusions to the joyful expectation of the Messiah, helps us to understand the fullness of the value and meaning of the mystery of Christmas. It is not just about commemorating the historical event, which occurred some 2,000 years ago in a little village of Judea. Instead, we must understand that our whole life should be an “advent”, in vigilant expectation of Christ’s final coming. To prepare our hearts to welcome the Lord who, as we say in the Creed, will come one day to judge the living and the dead, we must learn to recognize his presence in the events of daily life. Advent is then a period of intense training that directs us decisively to the One who has already come, who will come and who continuously comes. (Source)

As we “prepare our hearts to welcome the Lord, let us heed the words of St. Paul: “Examine yourselves, to see whether you are in the faith. Test yourselves” ( 2 Corinthians 13:5a), and cleanse yourself of the “old leaven.”

Jesus said to Peter and John, “Go and prepare the Passover for us, that we may eat it.” In like manner, go and prepare yourselves so that “at his coming, [he] may find in us—in you—a mansion prepared for himself; who lives and reigns with you, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.” (Collect for the Fourth Sunday of Advent)

The Rev. Dr. John Toles

Rector

St. Matthews

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Sermon: Nicholas of Myra

Icon of Nicholas by Jaroslav Čermák

Today is actually the Feast day of Ambrose of Milan, but yesterday was the Feast Day of Nicholas of Myra, and I couldn’t pass up on ol’ St. Nick.  He was persecuted under Emperor Diocletian and was most likely one of the Bishops at the Council of Nicea in 325. While there, he is reported to have boxed the ears of a heretic. He is the patron saint of sailors and, of course, children.  

The legends are fun.  In one, he saves the three daughters of a poor man from becoming prostitutes by providing their dowry; in another, he restores to life three children who had been killed and placed in a vat of brine.  Neither or both may be true, but in either case, they likely point to certain truths about the character of this now jolly-red-suit-with-white-fur-trim-clad saint: he showed great compassion for those in need and was called to serve the dispossessed.  

These, the needy and the dispossessed, are often the ones we would like to look past.  Even as the Church, good Christian people, we often find it challenging to look at the sufferings of others because we spend so much of our time looking in.  Self-preservation and self-examination are instinctive and good practices, but they can lead to us becoming self-consumed.

Vince Lombardi was the head coach of the Green Bay Packers from 1959 to 1967.  During that time, Bart Starr was the first-string quarterback. Starr, as well as everyone else, knew where they stood with regard to Lombardi. Starr said, as you entered Vince’s office, you noticed a large mahogany desk with an impressive organization chart behind it on the wall. The chart had a small block at the top in which was printed: “Vince Lombardi, Head Coach and General Manager.” A line came down from it to a very large block in which was printed: “Everybody Else!”

When we become self-consumed, we see ourselves in a similar position. We’re at the top, and everybody else is below us.

In his book, Ethics, Dietrich Bonhoeffer wrote, “God loves human beings. God loves the world. Not an ideal human, but human beings as they are; not an ideal world, but the real world. What we find repulsive in their opposition to God, what we shrink back from with pain and hostility, namely, real human beings, the real world, this is for God the ground of unfathomable love.” (p.84)

The world is the ground of God’s unfathomable love, and we, like St. Nicholas, can be the conduits of that love by seeing—not the needy and dispossessed / everybody else—but by seeing the objects of God’s love.

In the time of Jesus, the children were among the needy and dispossessed.  They could not work or provide for themselves, yet Jesus said to his disciples who tried to prevent those children from coming to him, “Let the little children come to me; do not stop them; for it is to such as these that the kingdom of God belongs.”  We must be wise in our dealings with the world, but we must not become so calloused or self-consumed that we are preventing the children from approaching Jesus; or us. We are to allow them to come so we might point them to the one who is Love.

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Sermon: Advent 2 RCL A – “Lighting Candles”

Photo by Sonika Agarwal on Unsplash

David graduated college and started working his first job. He was shocked by the expenses that came along with paying for his apartment, food, and everything else associated with the “real world.” He was even complaining to his mother about the high cost of auto insurance.

“You know,” said his mother, “If you got married already, your premiums would be lower.”

David smiled. “That would be like buying an airline ticket just to get free peanuts.”

Last week, we lit the first of the four Advent candles. The light began to shine in the darkness. In a dark world, a single candle may not appear to be that much, but you have heard the words of Francis of Assisi, and they are true: “All the darkness in the world cannot extinguish the light of a single candle.” That first candle may provide only a little light, but it cannot be overcome by any amount of darkness. This fire is ours. It was kindled within us by the Holy Spirit, but even though it is in us, it is not for us to keep to ourselves but to give freely, just as it was given freely to us. Yet, to give freely is not the way of the world.

In Dostoyevsky’s The Brothers Karamazov, while discussing “The Russian Monk and his possible Significance,” Father Zossima writes, “The world says: ‘You have needs—satisfy them. You have as much right as the rich and the mighty. Don’t hesitate to satisfy your needs; indeed, expand your needs and demand more.’ This is the worldly doctrine of today. And they believe that this is freedom. The result for the rich is isolation and suicide, for the poor, envy and murder.” Dostoyevsky wrote that in 1880 and it would seem that not much has changed. You’ve got to hold what you’ve got while attempting to gain more. In the context of our lonely candle, the flame is not shared. It withholds all that it has to offer, but Jesus has said to us, “You are the light of the world.” We have this gift of light that we are called to share with others, but what will it cost us if we do?

I came across this story but don’t know its source (I searched!) The boy’s name changes from the versions I read, so we’ll call him Joseph. 

Joseph lived in a village on the edge of a forest. The people who lived there were simple folks and somewhat embarrassed by their small church. When visitors would come, they would tell them that they hoped to one day build a grand cathedral like what was on the other side of the forest because it just seemed to them that when you were in the cathedral with all its grandness, you were much nearer to God. 

One Christmas Eve, Joseph’s mother—a widow—became very ill and was nearing death, so Joseph decided to make the journey through the woods to the cathedral where he might pray. Setting off in the evening, he took a single candle to light his way through the woods and, once at the cathedral, set the burning candle on the altar as a prayer for his mother. 

The woods were a scary place, and Joseph had heard that anyone making the trip to the cathedral through them must pass by an old well that was reported to be haunted. To protect yourself as you went by, you had to toss a coin into the well, but Joseph was poor and had no coin, so as he neared, he broke into a run, only to trip on an old root and fall beside the well. As he was scrambling to get up, he heard a small voice. “Help me! Give me your light so I can see my way out of this place.”

Joseph, terrified, replied, “This candle is for my mother. She is very ill. I’m taking it to the altar at the cathedral to say a prayer so that she can be healed.” The voice from the well spoke again, “How can you refuse to share your light on this night of Christ’s birth?” After another moment’s hesitation, Joseph tossed his candle into the well, yet feeling he had just brought on the death of his mother; he bent over in tears. Then, through his tears, he saw the light of his candle growing from inside the well, and shortly, a small child stepped out, holding his candle. The child smiled at Joseph and said, “Return home. You will find your mother healed.”  

Joseph ran and found his mother up and waiting for him. She had been restored to health. She and Joseph went to their small church to give thanks. When they opened the church doors, they were nearly blinded by the light pouring forth from the altar. At that moment, the cathedral could not compare to the glory of that small church.

When their eyes had adjusted, Joseph’s mother was even more astonished. “Joseph,” she said, “there is only one candle on the altar making all this light.” Joseph could not speak, for as he knelt at the altar to pray, he saw that the candle on the altar was the candle he had tossed down the well to the child. The light he had given away had returned to him in great glory.

As a Christian people, we are not to withhold the light that has been so freely given to us, but what will it cost us to give it to others? “A candle loses nothing by lighting another candle.” (Father James Keller) 

[Light second Advent candle] Notice the first candle has lost nothing. Its flame is not smaller, its lifetime is not diminished, and the heat and light it produces are not less. We are to be this candle to others.

How do we go about it? We share with them the Gospel message that they may know God. We give of ourselves. We give of our treasures… I looked at all we’ve given just this year through our Community Tithe. It is amazing. We step up and do the fun and exciting things, and we step up and do the small and mundane chores. And all of this is based on the great commandment to love.

We are all aware of the work of the Sisters of Charity, the religious order in India founded by Mother Teresa. Mother Teresa wrote of that work, “What we are doing is but a drop in the ocean. This may be only a drop, but the ocean would be less if it weren’t there. What we do is something small, but we do it with big hearts. At death, we will not be judged by the amount of work we did, but by the amount of love we put into it. We do not strive for spectacular actions. What counts is the gift of yourself, the degree of love you put into each of your deeds. Do you want to be great? Pick up a broom and sweep the floor.”

We will not be judged by the amount of work we do—the greatness or smallness of the work. We will be judged by the amount of love we put into it. What is love? Bishop Robert Barron wrote, “Love actually is a great act of the will. It’s when I say, ‘I desire your good, not for my sake but for yours.’ To love is to break out of the black hole of the ego and say, ‘My life is about you.’” When we love in this way through words and deeds, we are lighting candles, and the glory of their light will bring glory to our Father. Share the flame that is within you.

Let us pray: Gracious Father, we are filled with new light by the coming of your Word among us. May this light, the light of faith, shine in our words and actions. Grant this through our Lord Jesus Christ, your Son, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, forever and ever. Amen.

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Sermon: Advent 1 RCL A – “Separating the Darkness”

Michelangelo is painting the Sistine Chapel’s ceiling when he sees a woman praying the rosary. He decides to take a break and lies back on the scaffolding so the woman can’t see him and says in a loud voice, “I am Jesus Christ. Listen to me, and I will perform miracles.”

The woman is intent on her beads and prayers and does not look up.

Michelangelo figures that she is hard of hearing, so he shouts, “I am Jesus Christ! Listen to me, and I will perform miracles!”

With head bent, the woman continues praying, so Michelangelo shouts, “I AM JESUS CHRIST! LISTEN TO ME!”

The woman yells back, “Would you shut up? I’m talking to your mother.”

As you know, last Sunday, a group of us went down to the city and saw the Sistine Chapel Exhibit. Being together and seeing the images close up was a treat. 

The construction of the Sistine Chapel was completed in 1483 and consecrated by Pope Sixtus IV, but Michelangelo’s work did not begin until 1508. When it started, it took him four years. That is remarkable in itself, but when you consider a few more details, it seems impossible. The chapel is 132 feet long, 44 feet wide, and 68 feet high. With the arch, the ceiling—Michelangelo’s canvas—is over 12,000 square feet. 

Ten years after it was complete, not everyone got it. For example, a visiting bishop wrote, “Among the most important figures is that of an old man, in the middle of the ceiling, who is represented in the act of flying through the air.” That old man flying through the air is supposed to be God.

Finally, due to a mistranslated word, it was long believed that Michelangelo painted the ceiling while lying on his back. As it turns out, he did it standing and even wrote a short poem about how uncomfortable it was.

I’ve already grown a goiter from this torture,
hunched up here like a cat in Lombardy
(or anywhere else where the stagnant water’s poison).
My stomach’s squashed under my chin, my beard’s pointing at heaven,
my brain’s crushed in a casket, my breast twists like a harpy’s.
My brush, above me all the time, dribbles paint so my face makes a fine floor for droppings!
My haunches are grinding into my guts, my poor [back side] strains to work as a counterweight…
my spine’s all knotted from folding over itself.
I’m bent taut as a Syrian bow.

On our way home from the exhibit, Marianne asked us each which was our favorite image. For me, it is the one on the front of your bulletin, inspired by Genesis 1:1-4— “In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth. “The earth was without form and void, and darkness was over the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God was hovering over the face of the waters. And God said, ‘Let there be light,’ and there was light. And God saw that the light was good. And God separated the light from the darkness.” In the picture, God is looking up and separating the light from the dark. It is as if he were pushing the darkness asides so that the light could be revealed. 

How is this relevant for us today? Because the bringing of light into the darkness is what the Season of Advent is all about. 

[Light first Advent candle]

As we light the first candle, it does not provide much light, but it is only the beginning.

You all know I’m a Stephen King fan and my favorite Stephen King book (I won’t scare you by telling you how many times I’ve read it) is The Stand. The setting is a world where 99.99% of all human beings have died—very uplifting. At one point, two individuals, Larry and Rita, must find their way out of New York City, and they choose to walk through one of the tunnels. There is no electricity, so the tunnel is dark and jammed up with cars, and… let’s just say it is a scary place. They’ve lost their lights (naturally) and are blindly stumbling through the pitch-black tunnel. Rita suddenly stops, and Larry asks her what is wrong.

Rita says, “‘I can see, Larry! It’s the end of the tunnel!’

“[Larry] blinked and realized that he could see, too. The glow was dim and it had come so gradually that he hadn’t been aware of it until Rita had spoken. He could make out a faint shine on the tiles, and the pale blur of Rita’s face closer by. Looking over to the left he could see the dead river of automobiles.”

St. Matthew tells us:

“The people dwelling in darkness
    have seen a great light,
and for those dwelling in the region and shadow of death,
    on them a light has dawned.” (Matthew 4:16)

Like Rita and Larry, the people had been in darkness so long that they may not have even noticed that light was coming into the world. Like the dawn that comes slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, but the light is there. The people only needed to recognize it. And recognizing the light is not always easy, especially when our souls are in a dark place.

For many individuals, the holiday season is not a happy season. They can put on a smile at the office party or be cheery while around others, but inside… they are not so good. Instead of being a time of joy, it is a time of regrets or loneliness. It is a time for missing those we’ve lost: spouses, other family members, and friends. It is also a time when we may experience the loss of ourselves and all the what-ifs. At such times, our souls can begin to feel like Michelangelo’s body as he painted the Sistine Chapel: tortured, hunched, crushed, unbalanced, bent out of shape, and worse. As a result, just as this time of year has greater darkness, a darkness of a spiritual nature can seep into our souls and spirits. Like walking through that tunnel, our souls stumble along, unable to see what is around us. For some in that place, even if the light does begin to shine, like Larry, who had spent so much time in that dark tunnel, they aren’t able to recognize that the light has started to shine. 

We know that Jesus said, “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will not walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.” So, when we encounter someone in that spiritually dark place, we can quote that off to them, thinking that should be enough, but the last thing a person in a spiritually dark place needs from you is for you to start preaching to them. No. What they need from you, more than anything is for you to be that candle. Don’t tell them about the light, be the light. You can’t simply “fix” them so, it may be that you can only sit in that dark place with them, but you can be a sign of hope. Your presence will tell them what Rita said to Larry: “I can see, Larry! It’s the end of the tunnel!” 

If you are a person who is in that dark place, then I encourage you to look around you here because I see many candles burning brightly who would share their light with you. You are loved by God and by God’s people. Your soul may be in a dark place, but you do not have to be alone. I read, “Hope is faith holding out its hand in the dark.” You do not have to be alone in the dark. Perform one small act of hope: reach out.

God is still separating the light from the darkness, and he invites us all to participate in this great work. When the work begins, it may be only a dim glow, one small candle’s worth, but it will be there—a sign of hope—and we can know that it is only the beginning of all that Our Father longs to give us.

Let us pray: Father in heaven, our hearts desire the warmth of your love, and our minds search for the light of your Word. Increase our longing for Christ our Savior and give us the strength to grow in love, that the dawn of his coming may find us rejoicing in his presence and welcoming the light of his truth. We ask this in the name of Jesus the Lord. Amen.

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Sermon: Christ the King RCL C

Rebecca thought it was time for her family to expand their social circle. So she and her husband David invited a bunch of different people for dinner. But early on, things weren’t looking so good.

Ralph, an insurance salesman, monopolized the conversation with a lengthy account of recent litigation he was involved with. Since two other guests were lawyers, Rebecca was becoming increasingly uneasy.

“In the end, Ralph concluded, “you know who got all the money.”

Rebecca and David cringed.

“The lawyers!” Ralph shouted.

There was embarrassed silence at the table. Rebecca’s heart was pounding until the wife of one lawyer said, “Oh, I so love a story with a happy ending.”

Every year on Christmas Day, we read Isaiah 9:2-7. Verses six and seven are:

“For to us a child is born,
    to us a son is given;
and the government shall be upon his shoulder,
    and his name shall be called
Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,
    Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.

Of the increase of his government and of peace
    there will be no end,
on the throne of David and over his kingdom,
    to establish it and to uphold it
with justice and with righteousness
    from this time forth and forevermore.”

These are words that were written 700 years before the birth of Christ. For those 700 years, the people were waiting and watching for this king to come. Several individuals rose in prominence that some believed were this long-awaited king, but in the end, they were disappointed. There was no happy ending, but then a spark of hope. A message came to a young woman.

From Luke, chapter one: “In the sixth month the angel Gabriel was sent from God to a city of Galilee named Nazareth, to a virgin betrothed to a man whose name was Joseph, of the house of David. And the virgin’s name was Mary.” It is the opening of the scene of the Annunciation. Using the words that Isaiah had spoken 700 years prior, Gabriel said to Mary, “You will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you shall call his name Jesus. He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High. And the Lord God will give to him the throne of his father David, and he will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end.”

The child grew, and many began to follow him and believe he was the long-awaited king. In John’s Gospel, we are told that there was one incident—although it likely happened more than once—where the people gathered around Jesus to take him by force and make him king (cf. John 6:15), but he avoided them. And then there was the day he arrived in Jerusalem. The people were waving palm branches and laying down their cloaks so that the donkey Jesus rode upon would have them to walk upon. The waving of palm branches was a sign of royalty, and the laying down of cloaks symbolized the peoples’ submission to a king, who they obviously believed was Jesus, because, in addition to those symbols, they shouted, “Blessed is the King who comes in the name of the Lord! Peace in heaven and glory in the highest!” A happy ending in the making that turned sour quickly.

“When they came to the place that is called The Skull, they crucified Jesus there with the criminals, one on his right and one on his left.”

I know. Too much reading this morning, but Cardinal Schönborn says it best: “It sounds like mockery when at the end of his Gospel Luke the Evangelist has to recount what became of all the great hopes from this Savior of his people. His throne has turned into the Cross, that place of torture; for company, he has two robbers, one to the right and one to the left of him. The homage he receives is the mockery of those who have set this ‘throne’ up for him, and as the ultimate in nastiness, a notice over the head of the man who is dying in such torment states the reason for his crucifixion: ‘This is the King of the Jews.’” (Jesus, the Divine Physician: Reflections on the Gospel During the Year of Luke, p.158)

After all those years of waiting and hoping for the promised king yet, when he arrived… they put him to death. We know the rest of the story, but if we put ourselves in the place of those who witnessed the crucifixion, then this was certainly not a happy ending to the story. Instead, it was the worse possible ending. And not only did they put him to death, but in the end, they all failed to understand who he was.

When Jesus said, “Father, forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing,” he wasn’t simply asking the Father to pity them. In an unemotional way, Jesus was saying, “They truly don’t understand.” They failed to comprehend. And it wasn’t just the religious leaders or the Romans who failed to understand. It was also his followers, even the disciples. 

Shortly before his crucifixion, Jesus told the disciples about all that would happen, but the Scriptures say, “But they understood none of these things. This saying was hidden from them, and they did not grasp what was said.” After his resurrection, Jesus meets the two dejected disciples on the road to Emmaus. They say, “Oh, we had so much hope in this Jesus. He was going to redeem Israel”—essentially, “He was going to be our king.” And what did Jesus say to them? “O foolish ones, and slow of heart to believe all that the prophets have spoken! Was it not necessary that the Christ should suffer these things and enter into his glory?” “Father, forgive them… they just don’t know.” But there was one. One person who finally understood.

“One of the criminals who were hanged there kept deriding him and saying, ‘Are you not the Messiah? Save yourself and us!’ But the other rebuked him, saying, ‘Do you not fear God, since you are under the same sentence of condemnation? And we indeed have been condemned justly, for we are getting what we deserve for our deeds, but this man has done nothing wrong.’ Then he said, ‘Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.’ 

No one, from the greatest to the least, understood who Jesus was except for a single condemned man who, knowing he was dying, saw in the face and person of Jesus, his Eternal King. In seeing him, he asked only to be remembered. He didn’t want to have lived his life—flawed though it was—and be forgotten. He just wanted Jesus, one person, to remember that he had lived, and by simply asking, he was not only remembered but given access to Paradise, the eternal kingdom of our God. Jesus said to him, “Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise.”

Today is Christ the King Sunday. It is the last Sunday of the church year. Next Sunday is the First Sunday of Advent, and we begin the story again. We’ve spent this year primarily hearing about Jesus from Luke’s perspective. Next year it will be Matthew’s. 

In our travel through Luke, with all that we’ve read and heard, there are a great many lessons. Enough theology to fill libraries. John said at the end of his Gospel, “Now there are also many other things that Jesus did. Were every one of them to be written, I suppose that the world itself could not contain the books that would be written.” That is true. We can make the Gospel deep and even difficult to understand, but if we were to ask Luke, “What were the most important things you told us?” He might remind us of the prayer of the tax collector, who, standing in the Temple, would not look up to Heaven and, while beating his breast, prayed, “God, be merciful to me, a sinner!” And I think he would also remind us of the words of the thief that we heard today, “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” For it is not the depth of our understanding or any works—small or great—that allow us entry into the Eternal Kingdom. No. Instead, it is our willingness to come before Jesus—before God—and acknowledge our need for His mercy and then to see in the face and person of the crucified king, the Eternal King. The moment we pray and submit ourselves to Christ Jesus’ reign over our lives is the moment the angels sing, and Jesus speaks: “Behold, I make all things new,” and the gates of the Kingdom of God are opened to us.

“Oh, I so love a story with a happy ending.”

Let us pray: O Lord God, King of heaven and earth, may it please You to order and to hallow, to rule and to govern our hearts and our bodies, our thoughts, our words, and our works, according to Your law and in the doing of Your commandments, that we, being helped by You, may here and hereafter worthily be saved and delivered by You, O Savior of the world, who lives and reigns forever and ever. Amen.

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Second Father Anthony Mystery: BOOK RELEASE!

The Second Father Anthony Savel Mystery is now available on Amazon. Click on the cover image to be directed to the Amazon page.

Wannabe junior detective Father Anthony Savel and the congregation of St. Matthew’s Cathedral have recovered from the shocking murder of the Dean of the Cathedral that occurred a year ago. All is returning to normal except for the upcoming election of a new Bishop for the Diocese. Father Anthony, Miss Avery, Detective Stavlo, and Zekey the wonder poodle could have all remained in peace had it not been for a crash of thunder, a tripped-up acolyte, and another dead body in the cathedral. Church can be murder, and when the pointy hat, purple jeweled ring, and big stick (all signs of the bishop) are up for grabs, no one is safe.

A must-read for fans of the Fr. Brown, Mitford, and Cadfael series.

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Sermon: Margaret of Scotland

Saint Margaret, Queen of Scotland by Nicolas de Largilliere

Margaret of Scotland was an English princess born in Hungary as her father, Edward, was in exile. As kingdoms rise and fall, it appeared that Edward could return from exile to be crowned king, but no sooner had he arrived… he died. The family was at the mercy of those who would continue to rule. Eventually, Margaret and her family were forced to run for their lives, so they decided to return to Hungary. However, a storm blew their ship north, where it wrecked on the shores of Scotland.

Margaret had hoped to become a religious, but once in Scotland, she was noticed by the King of Scotland, Malcolm. Malcolm was smitten. From the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle: 

Then began Malcolm to yearn after the child’s [Edgar] sister, Margaret, to wife; but he and all his men long refused; and she also herself was averse, and said that she would neither have him nor anyone else, if the Supreme Power would grant, that she in her maidenhood might please the mighty Lord with a carnal heart, in this short life, in pure continence. The king, however, earnestly urged her brother, until he answered Yea. And indeed he durst not otherwise; for they were come into his kingdom … The prescient Creator wist long before what he of her would have done; for that she would increase the glory of God in this land, lead the king aright from the path of error, bend him and his people together by a better way, and suppress the bad customs which the nation formerly followed: all which she afterwards did. The king therefore received her, though it was against her will, and was pleased with her manners, and thanked God, who in his might had given him such a match. (Source)

Did she succeed in leading the king aright and bending the people away from their evil customs? The short answer: yes. With King Malcolm, she helped bring reform to the Scottish church, built schools and hospitals, and participated in rebuilding the monastery on Iona.  In addition, they established a Benedictine monastery in Dunfermline.  In her piety and desire to serve as Christ served, she would not sit down to eat her own meal until she had fed her nine orphan children and twenty-four other paupers.  During Advent and Lent, she and Malcolm would feed and serve 300 of the poor in their kingdom—not only did they serve the meal on the royal dishes, but they served them on their knees. 

She died in 1093, four days after her husband was killed in a battle with the English.  Her final words, “O Lord Jesus Christ who by thy death hast given life to the world, deliver me from all evil?”  She was forty-seven.

Our friend, John Reneau, gave us a different understanding of the parables that we read in our Gospel today: Jesus said, “The kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field, which someone found and hid; then in his joy he goes and sells all that he has and buys that field.” John said he always understood himself as the man who found the treasure, but that he had read in a commentary that Jesus is that man and that we are the treasure Jesus seeks, and that Jesus gave up everything to have us with him.

Jesus also said, “Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a merchant in search of fine pearls; on finding one pearl of great value, he went and sold all that he had and bought it.” With the understanding John provided: Jesus is the merchant, we are the pearl, and Jesus gave up all to have us with him. When it comes to Margaret of Scotland… I like John’s understanding of the parable, for Margaret of Scotland is also known as The Pearl of Scotland.

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