Tag: Jesus

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Sermon: Advent 3 RCL C – “Expression of Love”

Lucy approaches Charlie Brown and says, “Merry Christmas, Charlie Brown. ’Tis the season of peace on earth and good will toward men. Therefore, I suggest we forget all our differences and love one another.”

Charlie Brown is totally taken aback by this change of spirit. His face lights up, and he replies, “That’s wonderful, Lucy. I’m so glad you said that. But tell me, do we have to love each other only at this season of the year? Why can’t we love each other all year long?”

Lucy retorts, “What are you, a fanatic or something?”

In an interview, C.S. Lewis states, “Love is not affectionate feeling, but a steady wish for the loved person’s ultimate good as far as it can be obtained.” (God in the Dock, p.37) Bishop Robert Barron is always reminding us that to love is to “consistently will and choose the good of the other.” It would seem that both of these are taking their understanding of love from St. Thomas Aquinas, who said, “To love is to will the good of the other.” 

So, love is partly about the funny feeling you get in your stomach, but more importantly, it is sacrificial. It is giving yourself, without regard for yourself, to another. What makes love so colorful and broad is how this, willing the good of the other, is expressed. That expression of love can take many forms, even some that seem to be any and everything other than love.

One of my favorite books is The Stand by Stephen King. In the beginning, one of the characters, Larry Underwood, finds himself in a bit of trouble out in California, so he heads to New York, where he spends some time with his mom. 

The relationship between these two has some interesting dynamics. His mom, Alice, is quite reserved and stoic, and Larry is a bit selfish. The day after he arrived, he slept in while his mother got up and went to work, but before she did, she took care of a few things for Larry and left a note. 

She had gone out and purchased all the foods he liked—canned ham, roast beef, Coke, peach ice cream. In the bathroom, there’s a new toothbrush, disposable razors, shaving cream, and even a bottle of Old Spice cologne. Of the cologne, he remembers her saying, “Not fancy but smelly enough for the money.” 

Larry saw all these things but then reflected on the note she had left. At the beginning, there was no “Dear Larry,” at the end, there was no “Love, Mom.” “Just a new toothbrush, new tube of toothpaste, new bottle of cologne. Sometimes, [Larry] thought, real love is silent as well as blind.” (p.104)

However, there are times when love looks even more different than what we expect.

As I sat in my office at home, reading the lessons for this week, I startled the cat because the sequence and the contrast of the lessons made me laugh.

Our first reading from Zephaniah began,

“Sing aloud, O daughter Zion;
shout, O Israel!

Rejoice and exult with all your heart,
O daughter Jerusalem!”

Our canticle, The First Song of Isaiah, concluded with the words, 

“Cry aloud, inhabitants of Zion, ring out your joy,
for the great one in the midst of you is the Holy One of Israel.”

Paul told the Philippians, “Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice.”

And then we get to the Gospel lesson. “John [the Baptist] said to the crowds that came out to be baptized by him, ‘You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come?’”

Sing aloud! Rejoice and exult! Rejoice! You brood of vipers!

I laughed, but then I wondered why. Why was John so angry?

Within our psyche, some emotions are categorized as primary. These can include fear, anger, joy, sadness, disgust, contempt, and surprise. However, anger can also be categorized as a secondary emotion—a mask for a true emotion. In some cases, anger is the mind’s way of hiding fear. One specialist notes, “The brain moves us very quickly from these primary emotions to anger. It can happen so fast that we hardly even notice the switch.” (Source)

Parents probably often experience this. Think of a time when you thought your child was in danger or doing something stupid. At first, you experience fear and concern, but as soon as the incident is resolved, you might say, “Now, I’m gonna kill ‘em.” In such circumstances, fear led to anger, but why did you fear for them in the first place? For the same reason John the Baptist called those coming to him a brood of vipers—love. 

You were afraid and angry because you love your children. John was also afraid for those coming to him, and his fear made him angry. John loved those coming to him because he loved them as God loved them. He feared what would happen to them if they did not turn from evil. He would have been like Jonah if he hadn’t cared about them. Remember him?

The Lord told Jonah, “Arise, go to Nineveh, that great city, and call out against it, for their evil has come up before me.” Jonah is to tell the people to repent, but instead of obeying, he flees in the opposite direction, which ends with him being swallowed by the great fish. After three days, he is spit back out on the dry land and again told by the Lord to go to Nineveh. This time, he obeys. He cries out against Nineveh, telling them the Lord will destroy them unless they repent. Miracles of miracles, the people repent, and the Lord does not destroy them. What was Jonah’s response? Jonah said, “O Lord, is not this what I said when I was yet in my country? That is why I made haste to flee to Tarshish; for I knew that you are a gracious God and merciful, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love, and relenting from disaster. Therefore now, O Lord, please take my life from me, for it is better for me to die than to live.” 

Kill me now, Lord, because I’m so angry. Not angry because I feared for Nineveh, but angry because I don’t like them. They deserved to be wiped out, but no, you’ve got to be all sweet and lovey-dovey and save them.

Jonah did not want the people to be saved, but John did. John’s anger was not a sign of his contempt for the people. John’s anger was a sign of his love for them—the steady wish for their ultimate good, a willing for their good and salvation.

There are many ways love is expressed. “Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.” Love can be blind and revealed in silent acts, but it can, at times, be revealed even in anger. However it is manifested, “Love never ends,” and “God is love.”

Charlie Brown said, “Why can’t we love each other all year long?” Lucy responded, “What are you, a fanatic or something?” When it comes to love, God is a fanatic. 

So, here’s a question: How much do you love those around you? Do you wish for and work toward their ultimate good? Is your love for them like a sappy Hallmark card, or is your love for them a John the Baptist kind of love—a fanatic kind of love? And if you say it is fanatic love, does that extend to their soul? Like John the Baptist, do you love them enough to share your faith and call them to God? Do you love them enough to care about their life today, but also their eternal life? 

Sing aloud! Rejoice and exult! Rejoice! You brood of vipers! God loves you. Don’t keep it a secret. Go out and share God’s fanatic love with others.

Let us pray: Stir up your power, O Lord, and with great might come among us; and, because we are sorely hindered by our sins, let your bountiful grace and mercy speedily help and deliver us; through Jesus Christ our Lord, to whom, with you and the Holy Spirit, be honor and glory, now and for ever. Amen.

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Sermon: Advent 2 RCL C – “Song of the Soul”

A violinist noticed that his playing had a hypnotic effect on his audience. They sat motionless as though they were in a trance. He found he had the same impact on his friends’ pets. Dogs and cats would sit spellbound while he played. Wondering if he could cast the same spell over wild beasts, he went to a jungle clearing in Africa, took out his violin, and began to play. A lion, an elephant, and a gorilla charged into the clearing stopped to listen, and sat mesmerized by the music. Soon, the clearing was filled with every kind of ferocious animal, each one listening intently. Suddenly, another lion charged out of the jungle pounced on the violinist, and killed him instantly.

The first lion, bewildered, asked, “Why did you do that?”

The second lion cupped his paw behind his ear. “What?”

If you ask the experts, they will tell you that a digital recording produces better sound quality than a vinyl record. If you ask me, I’ll tell you vinyl produces better quality. Why? For whatever reason, I can hear it better, and for someone who does not hear so well, that is reason enough to spend a few more dollars on the music I genuinely enjoy. 

When you look at a record, you can see it has grooves/lines that the needle settles into. However, when you put a vinyl record under a microscope, it looks like a mountain range: ridges, valleys, bumps, wiggles, and all. When you play a CD, it is reading a digital code made up of ones and zeroes. When you play a vinyl record, the needle (stylus for all you aficionados) reads all those ridges, valleys, bumps, and wiggles, converting them into electrical signals that are then played through the speakers. If all goes well… beautiful music, but you have to take care of records.

A scratch on a CD may or may not damage the sound quality, but even minor scratches on a vinyl record will produce a popping sound. Why? You’ve added a new element to the ridges and valleys, and the needle reads it. It may pop, but if the scratch is bad enough, the needle may jump out of the groove and skip part of the song.

Today, our Gospel reading begins with a list of who’s who. Luke, by providing all these details, isn’t dropping names. Instead, he is setting the timeframe for those who would read his Gospel. So, with the info provided, we know it is about 29/30 AD. (FYI: many believe that AD means “after death,” referring to the death of Jesus. However, it is an abbreviation for Anno Domini, meaning “the year of our Lord.”) What is Luke setting the timeframe for? The ministry of John the Baptist.

John, we are told, went about the region surrounding the Jordan River “proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins.” Luke then states, “as it is written in the book of the words of the prophet Isaiah.” In other words, Luke tells us that John’s ministry is a fulfillment of prophecy. 

“The voice of one crying out in the wilderness:

‘Prepare the way of the Lord,
make his paths straight.’”

That is Isaiah 4:3, but who is speaking those words? To learn this, we have to read the first two verses of Isaiah 40.

“Comfort, comfort my people, says your God.

Speak tenderly to Jerusalem,
    and cry to her
that her warfare is ended,
    that her iniquity is pardoned,
that she has received from the Lord’s hand
    double for all her sins.”

“Comfort, comfort my people, says your God.” Isaiah records the words, but it is as though he is sitting in the room with God, for it is God Himself speaking. God is calling for the comfort of His people. Why? 

You’ll remember from last week, we discussed the Babylonian Captivity—when the Israelites were taken slaves in Babylon following the sacking of Jerusalem. God is speaking comfort because that captivity is nearing its end. The people will soon be set free and allowed to return home, and it is God who will lead them. A few verses on, the Lord says,

“He will tend his flock like a shepherd;
    he will gather the lambs in his arms;
he will carry them in his bosom,
    and gently lead those that are with young.”

(Isaiah 40:11)

So, putting that all together, the Lord says that He will lead his people out of captivity and that the way ahead shall be made ready and made easy. As though calling on His Holy Angels, the Lord says to them, 

“Prepare the way of the Lord,
make his paths straight.
Every valley shall be filled,
and every mountain and hill shall be made low,
and the crooked shall be made straight,
and the rough ways made smooth.”

So, if Isaiah was talking about the release of captivity from Babylon, why then was Luke applying this passage to the ministry of John? Answer: the people are still being held captive. However, this time, it is not by some foreign adversary (although the Romans occupy the land); instead, they are being held captive by their sins.

John  came “proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins.” The call to “Prepare the way of the Lord” is not about preparing smoother roads. It is about preparing the soul. 

You were created in the Image of God, an image that is perfection. An image that was never meant to decay or even know death. People will say that “death is natural.” No, it is not. It is the most unnatural thing we do. We were created for life eternal, but through sin, death entered in—the Image of God that is within us became distorted.

Our bodies and souls were created to play the most beautiful music. Music that was in perfect harmony with our Creator. Yet, through the sin of Adam and Eve, we received our first “scratch.” Over time, and through our disobedience, we became even more damaged so that the music we now play contains discord—pops, skips, and missing pieces; therefore, John’s proclamation for repentance is still valid. Luke’s call to fill in the valleys and smooth the rough ways is a way of saying we need to repair the scratches so that we may again play beautiful music. How do we do this? 

Isaiah told those in captivity that God would lead them. Remember his words: “He will tend his flock like a shepherd.” God will also lead us. God, the Good Shepherd—Jesus—will lead us. It is He who leads us out of the captivity of our sins and restores the Image of God within us. In the next chapter of Luke, we hear Jesus also quote Isaiah.

“The Spirit of the Lord is upon me,
    because he has anointed me
    to proclaim good news to the poor.
He has sent me to proclaim liberty to the captives
    and recovering of sight to the blind,
    to set at liberty those who are oppressed,

to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.

And he rolled up the scroll and gave it back to the attendant and sat down. And the eyes of all in the synagogue were fixed on him. And he began to say to them, ‘Today this Scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.’” (Luke 4:18-21)

Jesus will restore the image of God within, but just as we must protect and care for a vinyl record, we must also protect and care for our souls. This is not because Jesus will get tired and just quit repairing the scratches. Through grace, He never will, but to sin is to willingly place ourselves back into the captivity we were set free from. St. Paul also asked this same question.

“What shall we say, then? Shall we go on sinning so that grace may increase? By no means! We are those who have died to sin; how can we live in it any longer?” A few verses on, he says, “Sin shall no longer be your master, because you are not under the law, but under grace… Thanks be to God that, though you used to be slaves to sin, you have come to obey from your heart the pattern of teaching that has now claimed your allegiance. You have been set free from sin and have become slaves to righteousness.” (Romans 6:1-2, 14, 17-18) 

We are not those who willingly submit ourselves to captivity and the slavery of sin. Sin shall not be our master and defile the beautiful song of our souls. Instead, we submit ourselves to God and allow His ways to rule in our lives so that the song of our souls may once again be in harmony with the Lover of our souls.

St. James tells us, “Submit yourselves, then, to God. Resist the devil, and he will flee from you. Come near to God and he will come near to you…. Humble yourselves before the Lord, and he will lift you up.” (James 4:7, 10)

Submit yourself to God so that the Image of God within you may be restored.

Let us pray: Merciful God, who sent your messengers the prophets to preach repentance and prepare the way for our salvation: Give us grace to heed their warnings and forsake our sins, that we may greet with joy the coming of Jesus Christ our Redeemer; who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.

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Sermon: John of Damascus

Text: Sailing amid the tumult of the cares of life, I founder with
the ship of sin and am cast to the soul-destroying beast;
yet like Jonah I cry to Thee, O Christ; Lead me up from
the deadly abyss!

The second of the top ten: “You shall not make for yourself an idol of any kind, or an image of anything in the heavens above, on the earth beneath, or in the waters below. You shall not bow down to them or worship them; for I, the LORD your God, am a jealous God, visiting the iniquity of the fathers on their children to the third and fourth generations of those who hate Me.” (Exodus 20:4-5)  For the Jew and the Muslim, there remains a rigorous prohibition against images of any kind that would depict God. Still, within Christianity, the interpretation of this passage has a gray area: the use of icons.

Legend has it that St. Luke the Evangelist ‘wrote’ the first icon, but from there, the history of these windows into heaven becomes foggy.  Whatever the case, in the 8th century, the iconoclast pushed for the removal of all images, but there were some who pushed back.  Sounds like a little church fight, but this one issue resulted in over 100,000 individuals being killed or injured in the battles that ensued.  Eventually, those in favor of icons would win the day.  

Pope John Paul II, in 1999, wrote his “Letter to Artists,” stating, “The decisive argument to which the bishops appealed in order to settle the controversy was the mystery of the Incarnation.”  

The bishop who made the greatest case that John Paul refers to is our saint for the day: St. John of Damascus or St. John Damascene.  He writes, “I do not worship matter, I worship the God of matter, who became matter for my sake (speaking of the Incarnation of Jesus) and deigned to inhabit matter (his body), who worked out my salvation through matter (the cross). I will not cease from honoring that matter (icons) which works for my salvation. I venerate it (the icon), though not as God.”

How might we pray with or venerate a window into heaven?  Consider our icon of Julian of Norwich in this chapel named after her.  Julian writes: “And in this he showed me a little thing, the quantity of a hazel nut, lying in the palm of my hand, as it seemed. And it was as round as any ball. I looked upon it with the eye of my understanding, and thought, ‘What may this be?’ And it was answered generally thus, ‘It is all that is made.’ I marveled how it might last, for I thought it might suddenly have fallen to nothing for littleness. And I was answered in my understanding: It lasts and ever shall, for God loves it. And so have all things their beginning by the love of God.  In this little thing I saw three properties. The first is that God made it. The second that God loves it. And the third, that God keeps it.”

Now consider this: in her vision/showing, Julian understood that what she held, the size of a hazel nut, was all of creation: earth, planets, sun, stars, galaxies, universe… everything.  And she was also a part of it.  And God showed this to her, lying in the palm of her hand.  For us, praying with the icon, we can visualize our smallness, but then again… how great is our God that he can hold it all, and how comforting to know that he loves it.

Imagine that you were one of the peasants living in the 8th century with no understanding of theology.  You would never have read or heard the words of the Bible in a language you could understand.  But what if someone told you that this little hazelnut is all of creation, and this is how God holds and loves you?  John of Damascus understood this: these windows point us all to a deeper understanding of God and his love for us.

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Sermon: Christ the King RCL B – “Shadow”

I’ve no idea how I’ve ended up in the world of old radio programs—last week, it was Orson Welle’s broadcast of War of the Worlds—and this week, I’ve found another one. It began on July 31, 1930, as the Detective Story Hour radio program. Each episode starts with the narrator stating, “Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men? The Shadow knows!” Each episode concludes, “As you sow evil, so shall you reap evil! Crime does not pay…The Shadow knows!”

Later episodes reveal that Kent Allard is The Shadow but goes by many different aliases. His best-known alias is Lamont Cranston, a bit of a Batman/Bruce Wayne character. Living in New York, he is a vigilante with a vast network of assistants and informants and a trusty .45 Colt pistol that aids him in fighting crime. Through these, he can gain the information he needs to defeat the criminals. He is also where we get the phrase, “Only the Shadow knows.” (I actually had no idea what that meant until I started reading about it this week. It was just one of those things you said.)

In the end, The Shadow learned and knew what others did not. 

In our Saints Book Club this past week, we discussed Saint Catherine of Siena: Mystic of Fire—Preacher of Freedom. I think we all walked away, wanting to know more about her. Although uneducated and not learning to read or write until a later age, she was one who advised paupers and Popes. Very remarkable. In her writing, she also speaks of a shadow. Like the radio character, her shadow also learns and knows what others do not, but instead of it being about others, her shadow knows about herself. 

Catherine says, “Never leave the knowledge of yourself!” (p.41) What she is saying is that we need to know the shadow, our inner selves intimately, so that we can begin, in the words of St. Paul, to “work out [our] own salvation with fear and trembling, for it is God who works in [us], both to will and to work for his good pleasure.” (Philippians 2:12-13) 

How does it work? Someone can tell me, “You’re so kind and loving.” I can believe that and go on my merry way, but if I look at the shadow within, I know that is not really true. As David says in the Psalms,

“For I know my transgressions,
    and my sin is ever before me.” (Psalm 51:3)

Understanding your shadow means knowing yourself and rooting out even the slightest transgressions. This helps us temper the praise of others, which can build our ego to unmanageable levels and also keeps us from believing the lies we tell ourselves. It also keeps us humble and compassionate, for by recognizing our faults and weaknesses, we begin to understand the struggles that others are facing in their own lives. However, knowing your shadow comes with a warning.

When you discover the shadow within, those ugly bits about yourself, you start to believe what it says about you. Catherine writes, “[W]hen notions come into the heart that say, ‘What you are doing is neither pleasing nor acceptable to God; you are in a state of damnation.’ And little by little, after these notions have caused discouragement, they infiltrate the soul and point out a way disguised as humility, saying, ‘You can see that because of your sins you aren’t worthy of many graces and gifts’—and so the person stays away from communion and from other spiritual gifts and practices. This is the devil’s trick, the darkness he causes.” (p.60)

We can come to believe we are all that and a bag of chips based on what others say about us, but by understanding our shadow and the sinfulness within, we can also come to believe the devil, who tells us we are completely lost and outside of God’s redeeming work. Through self-condemnation, we become discouraged and may eventually walk away from God entirely, believing we will never be good enough. That is a lie of the devil, but what is the solution? The solution is recognizing that the shadow only distorts the image within you. The shadow is not who you truly are. To see the true you, you must look in what Catherine calls “the Gentle Mirror of God.” 

“In the gentle mirror of God,” Catherine writes, the believer when at prayer “sees her own dignity: that through no merit of hers but by his creation she is the image of God.” (p.47) 

The image of God within can reveal itself in a multitude of ways—how we give, how we serve, how we sacrifice ourselves—but for Catherine, all of these can be summed up in one word: fire.

Today, in our first lesson, Daniel relates a vision.

As I watched,
thrones were set in place,
 and an Ancient One took his throne,
his clothing was white as snow,
 and the hair of his head like pure wool;
his throne was fiery flames, 
and its wheels were burning fire.
A stream of fire issued
and flowed out from his presence.
(Daniel 7:9-10a)

Catherine is very much aware of the shadow within herself, but as she looks in the gentle mirror of God, she begins to understand the nature of God and, in so doing, understands her own nature, which is the image of God within her. Speaking to God, who she refers to as boundless Love, she says, “In your nature, eternal Godhead, I shall come to know my nature. And what is my nature, boundless Love? It is fire, because you are nothing but a fire of love.” (p.47) St. John says, “God is love, and whoever abides in love abides in God, and God abides in him.” (1 John 4:16b) God is love, and for Catherine, this love is revealed as fire. A fire that reveals the defects of the shadow and a fire that, through its love, restores us to the true Image of God.

She writes, “For just as you can better see the blemish on your face when you look at yourself in the mirror, so the soul who in true self-knowledge rises up with desire to look at herself in the gentle mirror of God… sees all the more clearly her own defects because of the purity she sees in him.” (p.47) 

This is not an easy process. It can be painful at times because recognizing the defects of your own shadow is recognizing the not-so-nice bits about yourself. However, it is also “sweet” because by identifying the defects of the shadow, you can begin to do something about them.

Today is Christ the King Sunday. The day we celebrate the Kingship of our Lord. Liturgically, this is the last Sunday of the Church year. Next Sunday we begin the Season of Advent, which will lead up to the birth of the Christ Child. Much like the Season of Lent, the Season of Advent is a time of preparation. In Advent, we prepare our hearts, minds, and souls to receive the great gift of our salvation given to us through the birth of Jesus. One of the ways that we can prepare is by doing as Catherine encourages—knowing the shadow within as revealed by the fire we see in the gentle mirror of God.

You can stop there, but there are times when it must be spoken to release a thing’s power. Catherine says, “When [evil] thoughts or strong temptations regarding some specific thing (no matter how ugly) come into your heart, never keep them inside, but reveal them to the father of your soul…. We mustn’t be afraid, but must reveal our every infirmity to the doctor of our soul.” (p.92) Don’t shoot the messenger, but she is talking about confession. There are times when, in order to release the power of sin, the sin must be spoken, and the Church provides the Sacrament of Reconciliation/Confession for this specific purpose.

The Book of Common Prayer teaches us, “[I]f, in your preparation, you need help and counsel, then go and open your grief to a discreet and understanding priest, and confess your sins, that you may receive the benefit of absolution, and spiritual counsel and advice; to the removal of scruple and doubt, the assurance of pardon, and the strengthening of your faith.” (BCP 317) No. Confession is not the Church’s way of learning about all the ugliness of your shadow. Instead, it is the Church’s way of helping the fire of God’s love within you burn away sin so that you might be set free. It is as simple as that.

“Only the Shadow knows.” The shadow within you knows your inner self. Get to know it, then get to work on it. Allow the fire of God… allow Jesus to set you free, which is true freedom. For as Jesus teaches, “If the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed.” (John 8:36)

Let us pray: (Prayer 12: My Nature Is Fire)

In your nature, eternal Godhead,
I shall come to know my nature.
And what is my nature, boundless love?
It is fire,
because you are nothing but a fire of love.
And you have given humankind
a share in this nature,
for by the fire of love you created us.
And so with all other people
and every created thing;
you made them out of love.
O ungrateful people!
What nature has your God given you?
His very own nature!
Are you not ashamed to cut yourself off from such a noble thing
through the guilt of deadly sin?
O eternal Trinity, my sweet love!
You, light, give us light.
You, wisdom, give us wisdom.
You, supreme strength, strengthen us.
Today, eternal God,
let our cloud be dissipated
so that we may perfectly know and follow your Truth in truth,
with a free and simple heart.
God, come to our assistance!
Lord, make haste to help us!

Amen.

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Sermon: Elizabeth, Prnicess of Hungary

The English historian Robert Blake in 1982 wrote about one of the English monarchs: he “was a tyrannical monster. His rule echoed Caligula’s and prefigured that of Hitler or Stalin. Parliament was his collective accomplice: it blotted out his debts, it carried acts of attainder which deprived his enemies or imagined enemies of land, title and life without even the form of trial, it altered the succession, it allowed the king to bequeath the Crown by will, it gave his proclamations the force of statutory law.” 

This monarch’s official title was a bit on the wordy side, “By the Grace of God, King of England, France and Ireland, Defender of the Faith and of the Church of England and also of Ireland in Earth, under Jesus Christ, Supreme Head.” We know him as Henry VIII. I suppose it is good to be king, but when we consider the monarchs of that era, Blake’s description appears fitting for most of them. Therefore, it seems a bit odd to celebrate the life of one, but Elizabeth, Princess of Hungary, was a bit different.

Following the death of her husband, the court compelled her to leave her home and take on a life of near poverty because of her extravagant lifestyle. What were those extravagances? Giving to the poor. Building hospitals. Feeding the hungry—she even opened the royal granaries during a famine in the land. She is reported to have said, “How could I bear a crown of gold when the Lord bears a crown of thorns? And bears it for me!”

She wrote, “Today, there is an inescapable duty to make ourselves the neighbor of every individual, without exception, and to take positive steps to help a neighbor whom we encounter, whether that neighbor be an elderly person, abandoned by everyone, a foreign worker who suffers the injustice of being despised, a refugee, an illegitimate child wrongly suffering for a sin of which the child is innocent, or a starving human being who awakens our conscience by calling to mind the words of Christ: ‘As long as you did it for one of these, the least of my brethren, you did it for me’”

Jesus said, “Sell your possessions, and give alms. Make purses for yourselves that do not wear out, an unfailing treasure in heaven, where no thief comes near and no moth destroys.”

That verse has inspired so many individuals to do such great things. Like Elizabeth, those “great things” did not involve building vast empires or great wealth. They had nothing to do with making a name for themselves or gaining fame. Instead, those “great things” had to do with setting themselves aside, seeing Jesus, and seeking to serve Him in others with their entire being. How far does that go? Elizabeth died from exhaustion in serving the sick and needy.

I’m not going to ask you to do the same, but just as we are called to tithe 10% of our income to the work of God, what do you think the world would be like if we also tithed 10% of our lives to the work of God? What “great things” could we do as a Christian people? I can assure you that we would be a force to be reckoned with in turning back the pain and suffering of this world.

Here’s a challenge for you: An hour has 60 minutes. Ten percent of 60 is 6… 6 minutes. How could you change the lives of those around you if you gave 6 minutes of every hour to God? I dare you to try it.

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Sermon: Proper 28 RCL B – “Your Future”

Photo by Albert Antony on Unsplash

On October 30, 1938, Earth was invaded.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is the most terrifying thing I have ever witnessed . . . Wait a minute! Someone’s crawling out of the hollow top. Someone or . . . something. I can see peering out of that black hole two luminous disks . . are they eyes? It might be a face. It might be . . . Good heavens, something’s wriggling out of the shadow like a gray snake. Now it’s another one, and another. They look like tentacles to me. There, I can see the thing’s body. It’s large, large as a bear and it glistens like wet leather. But that face, it . . . Ladies and gentlemen, it’s indescribable. I can hardly force myself to keep looking at it. The eyes are black and gleam like a serpent. The mouth is V-shaped with saliva dripping from its rimless lips that seem to quiver and pulsate.”

It may not have actually happened, but at the time, hundreds of listeners believed it was. The broadcast of War of the Worlds, written by Orson Welles. Welles said, “I had conceived the idea of doing a radio broadcast in such a manner that a crisis would actually seem to be happening, and would be broadcast in such a dramatized form as to appear to be a real event taking place at that time, rather than a mere radio play.” It worked. Before the broadcast was complete, there were police in the studio lobby demanding that Welles stop the play and announce that it was all a radio drama. There were reported riots, suicides, and mayhem. Did the author and radio cast intend for such results? No.

From an article in the Smithsonian, “No one involved with War of the Worlds expected to deceive any listeners, because they all found the story too silly and improbable to ever be taken seriously.” (Source)

Now, listen to these words given to us by John.

“Now the seven angels who had the seven trumpets prepared to blow them.

“The first angel blew his trumpet, and there followed hail and fire, mixed with blood, and these were thrown upon the earth. And a third of the earth was burned up, and a third of the trees were burned up, and all green grass was burned up.

“The second angel blew his trumpet, and something like a great mountain, burning with fire, was thrown into the sea, and a third of the sea became blood. A third of the living creatures in the sea died, and a third of the ships were destroyed.

“The third angel blew his trumpet, and a great star fell from heaven, blazing like a torch, and it fell on a third of the rivers and on the springs of water. The name of the star is Wormwood. A third of the waters became wormwood, and many people died from the water, because it had been made bitter.” (Revelation 8:6-11)

You are all still here? That’s from Holy Scripture. I thought that would have the same effect as the War of the Worlds broadcast. Why haven’t you run for the hills? Could it be that we also find these writings “too silly and improbable to ever be taken seriously”? A zombie apocalypse is far more likely. Right?

The same indifference can be said for the passage from Mark’s Gospel that we read. The Disciples wanted to know when the end would come—those last great days. Jesus said, “Many will come in my name and say, ‘I am he!’ and they will lead many astray. When you hear of wars and rumors of wars, do not be alarmed; this must take place, but the end is still to come. For nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom; there will be earthquakes in various places; there will be famines. This is but the beginning of the birthpangs.” (Mark 13:5-8) Today, there are wars and earthquakes and famines, but we’ve always had these things—from the very beginning. This is nothing new, so there’s no reason to get excited about it. It’s just another day in the neighborhood. Right?

Many have spent a lifetime trying to sort out when the end will come. They pull out the Book of Revelation, Daniel, and the Prophets. They do math, counting days and years. They assign names to individuals and events they believe are associated with the end and place them on timelines to plot the future. It is an interesting exercise, but each and every person who has taken on such a challenge has failed. Why? Jesus said, “Concerning that day and hour no one knows, not even the angels of heaven, nor the Son, but the Father only.” (Matthew 24:36) And, the bottom line, we’re really just not too concerned. We won’t say it’s silly because it is from Holy Scripture, but we’re OK with the description of it being too “improbable to ever be taken seriously.”

Fine. Let’s take this End—with a capital “E”—and set it aside for a few minutes, and talk about another end, specifically, your end.

We may not be too concerned about the end of the world, but how many of you have a five-year plan? Something that deals with goals, financial status, job, health, weight loss, etc. You’ve got your plan all laid out nicely. Question: as it relates to your end, in your five-year planning, did you include the care for the widows and orphans in your midst? How does your plan account for feeding the hungry? Clothing of the naked? Sharing the Gospel message with others? You may know the financial yield of your IRA down to the penny on the day of your retirement, but how have you planned to extend your hand in love to those around you so that on your last day, you hear those words, “Well done good and faithful servant?”

You say, “Well, Fr. John, I don’t have a five-year plan, much less an IRA, so this doesn’t apply to me.” And I say, “Not so fast.” Do you have plans for your next day off? Got it worked out what you might be doing, or just happily thinking about a day away from the boss? Have you wondered if you might have enough left over to take the kids to a movie? I hope you do. Truly! I hope you are joyfully looking forward to living your life, but have you said your prayers this past week? Have you stopped long enough to listen for the voice of God? (And just in case you’re hedging on your answer, this morning in church doesn’t count!) I’m not asking if you spent an hour each day in deep meditation, but did you stop long enough each day to pray even the Lord’s Prayer? “Thank you, Fr. John; I now feel sufficiently guilty.”

I’m not saying you shouldn’t plan; you must be responsible, and I’m not trying to make you feel guilty either; live your life and enjoy it to its fullest. In addition, I’m not saying that the end of days is not something to consider and be aware of. Still, Jesus and John in the Book of Revelation or any other apocalyptic messages were not necessarily given to us so that we would sit around and be harassed by the future. The main point behind those writings is not to have us focus on “The End” or the future, but instead, to focus on our end. How is it we are living today?

It’s not, have you identified the Great Babylon in John’s Revelation, but have you identified your place in God’s plan?

It’s not, have you discovered the person of the anti-Christ, but have you discovered the person of Jesus Christ?

It’s not whether you can afford to retire early but whether you love God each and every day.

The focus is not solely on the end of the world, your five-year plan, or your weekend plans.  It is about your relationship with God today, and it’s about encountering, serving, blessing, and being blessed by Jesus here and now.

Yes, we must be responsible in our daily lives, and we must plan for the future, but an unhealthy preoccupation with the End of Days, the future, and all the “What ifs?” can lead us astray from the opportunities of today.

The end of days, the end of the year, the end of the week, the end of this sermon—yes, these are things to be considered, but they should never lead you astray or distract you from what God is doing in this very moment and how you should be making plans for and considering your own end.

I’m honestly not trying to depress you or make you feel guilty. However, the War of the Worlds may have been “too silly and improbable to ever be taken seriously,” but your end is not. In all you do, ask, “How am I storing up treasure in Heaven,” so that on your last day, Jesus says to you, “Well done, good and faithful servant… Enter into the joy of your master.” (Matthew 25:23)

Let us pray:

Lord, for tomorrow and its needs,
We do not pray;
Keep us, our God, from stain of sin
Just for today.

Let us both diligently work,
And duly pray.
Let us be kind in word and deed,
Just for today.

Let us be slow to do our will,
Prompt to obey;
Help us to sacrifice ourselves
Just for today.

And if today our tide of life
Should ebb away,
Give us thy Sacraments divine,
Sweet Lord today.

So for to-morrow and its needs
We do not pray,
But keep us, guide us, love us, Lord,
Just for to-day.

Amen.

(This prayer is from the St. Augustine Prayer Book) 

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Sermon: Proper 27 RCL B – “Hope”

Sitting by the window of her convent, Sister Barbara opened a letter from home.

It was from her parents and enclosed was a crisp $100 bill.

Sister Barbara smiled at the gesture.

As she read the letter by the window, she noticed a shabbily dressed stranger leaning against the lamppost below.

Quickly, she wrote a note. “Don’t despair,” and signed it, “Sister Barbara.” Then, wrapping the $100 bill in the note, she got the man’s attention and tossed it out the window to him.

The stranger picked it up and went off down the street with a puzzled expression and a tip of his hat.

The next day, Sister Barbara was told that a man was at her door, insisting on seeing her. She went down and found the stranger waiting. Without a word, he handed her a huge wad of $100 bills.
“What’s this?” she asked.

“That’s the $8,000 you have coming, Sister,” he replied. “Don’t Despair paid 80-to-1.” Turns out the man was a bookie.

Early in the Church’s history, theologians attempted to classify those sins that affect our souls. When complete, there were nine categories that came to be known as logismoi (lo-gee-smee) or “evil thoughts.” One of the Desert Fathers writes, “When negative logismoi (singular “logismos“) manage to enter your spiritual bloodstream, they can affect you in the same way that a needle, full of poison, penetrates you and spreads the deadly substance throughout your body.”

Over the centuries, these logismoi were further refined, and instead of nine, they were eight. Pope Gregory the Great again refined these eight and reduced them to seven. These seven are known as the Seven Deadly Sins: lust, gluttony, greed, sloth, wrath, envy, and pride.

In our Confirmation Class, we’ve studied the Examination of Conscience from the St. Augustine Prayer Book and learned that these seven sins are broken down even further. For example, under the sin of pride is the sin of distrust, and under distrust is cowardice. Performing an examination of conscience is an excellent means for discovering areas of our souls that need attention.

Today, however, I would like to return to when there were eight categories instead of seven. In particular, I would like us to look at tristitia (tris-ti-tia), defined as sadness, despondency, or despair, which means being without hope.

In Victor Hugo’s Les Misérables, Fantine is the most tragic of all the characters. At her lowest point, she declares,

“But there are dreams that cannot be
And there are storms we cannot weather
I had a dream my life would be
So much different from this hell I’m living
So different now from what it seemed
Now life has killed
The dream I dreamed.”

That is despair in perhaps its purest form. All is lost, and I am done. I suspect that we have all felt that way at some point in our lives. It is an overwhelming feeling, and it is sinful because it negates the promises of Christ and His sacrifice on the Cross. It declares, “I am beyond even the saving hand of God,” (which also falls under the category of spiritual pride.) It says, “I have no hope.”

In the time of Jesus, the temple complex consisted of the outer courtyard where anyone, Jew/Gentile, could gather. Entering through the next gate was for Jews only. This was the Women’s Courtyard. Both Jewish men and women could be here. The next gate would lead you to the Temple area, men/priests only.

Our Gospel reading today takes place in the Women’s Courtyard, where the treasury, consisting of thirteen trumpet-shaped basons, was located.

Jesus is teaching. He sees those who are supposed to be the teachers of the Law running about, and He criticizes them for their actions; then, He watches as an elderly Jewish widow approaches one of the basons and drops in two small copper coins, which are worth only a penny. He says, “Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put in more than all those who are contributing to the treasury. For all of them have contributed out of their abundance; but she out of her poverty has put in everything she had, all she had to live on.”

Through her actions, do you see hope or despair?

Consider the widow in our lesson from the Old Testament. Elijah asks her to bring him something to drink and a little something to eat. She says to him, “As the Lord your God lives, I have nothing baked, only a handful of meal in a jar, and a little oil in a jug; I am now gathering a couple of sticks, so that I may go home and prepare it for myself and my son, that we may eat it, and die.” That sounds like despair, but Elijah instructs her to go ahead and do as he asked, saying to her, “The jar of meal will not be emptied and the jug of oil will not fail until the day that the Lord sends rain on the earth.” Despair would have waved him off as a crazy old man, but instead, the woman found a measure of hope, and through her hope, she lived.

“And at the ninth hour Jesus—hanging upon the Cross—cried with a loud voice, ‘Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani?’ which means, ‘My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?’” If there was ever a cry of despair, that was it, but Jesus, being tormented as He was by the sins of the world descending upon Him, did not ever give up hope, for just moments before He died, He cried out, “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit!”

Through hope, the widow in the Temple gave God all she had. Through hope, the woman trusted Elijah’s word and gave him all she had to eat. Through hope, Jesus took upon Himself the sins of the world and believed His Father would bring Him through death itself.

At 40, the author Franz Kafka, who never married and had no children, was walking through the park in Berlin when he met a girl who was crying because she had lost her favorite doll. She and Kafka searched for the doll unsuccessfully.

Kafka told her to meet him the next day, and they would look again.

The next day, when they had not yet found the doll, Kafka gave the girl a letter written by the doll. The doll said, “Please don’t cry. I took a trip to see the world. I will write to you about my adventures.”

Thus began a story that lasted about a year until the end of Kafka’s life. During their meetings, Kafka read the letters of the doll, which he had carefully written about the doll’s adventures and conversations. The girl found them adorable.

Finally, Kafka brought a doll (he bought one) and, giving it to the girl, told her that her doll had returned from her trip.

“It doesn’t look like my doll at all,” she said.

Kafka handed her another letter in which the doll explained, “My travels have changed me.” The little girl hugged the new doll and gave her a happy home.

Many years later, the now-adult girl found a letter inside the doll. In the tiny letter signed by Kafka, it was written: “Everything you love will probably be lost, but in the end, love will return in another way.”

There are many events that are inevitable for us all unless we live in a box, closed off from the world, that can draw us down a path toward despair. However, there is always hope. This is not a “silver lining” or wishful thinking. This kind of hope comes from knowledge. You see, this hope comes from knowing that you are loved. Hope speaks to your soul and says, “Regardless of the loss, the pain, the tears, the distress you are experiencing, you are loved by the One who is Love itself.”

In the first book of the epic tale, The Lord of the Rings, the individuals gathered around the table are beginning to despair for their future. It is then that the great wizard Gandalf tells them, “Despair is only for those who see the end beyond all doubt. We do not.” There is no sin in feeling great loss. We all will, but we—God’s Beloved—are not seeing the end of hope. We will come away changed, but we are not seeing the end of love.

American author George Iles wrote, “Hope is faith holding out its hand in the dark.” I would add to that. “Hope is faith holding out its hand in the dark and knowing that Love will take your hand in His.” In those times of pain, close your eyes, reach out your hand, and know that you are loved.

Let us pray: Praised be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, He who in His great mercy gave us new birth, a birth unto hope which draws its life from the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead; a birth to an imperishable inheritance, incapable of fading or defilement, which is kept in heaven for you who are guarded with God’s power through faith; a birth to a salvation which stands ready to be revealed in the last days. Amen.

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Sermon: William Temple

My favorite William Temple quote is: “Humility does not mean thinking less of yourself than of other people, nor does it mean having a low opinion of your own gifts. It means freedom from thinking about yourself one way or the other at all.”

Temple is relatively new to our calendar of saints. He died in 1944 after serving as the Archbishop of Canterbury for only a few years. He was described in a poem by Ronald Knox:

A man so broad, to some he seem’d to be
Not one, but all Mankind in Effigy.
Who, brisk in Term, a Whirlwind in the Long,
Did everything by turns, and nothing wrong.
Bill’d at each Lecture-Hall from Thames to Tyne,
As Thinker, Usher, Statesman, or Divine.

Although he was successful at many things, it is for his teaching and preaching that he is best known. It is reported during one service that he led a congregation in singing the hymn “When I Survey the Wondrous Cross” by Isaac Watts. In the last verse, Temple asked the congregation to stop, saying, “Now, if you mean [the words] with all your heart, sing them as loud as you can. If you don’t mean them at all, keep silent. If you mean them even a little and want to mean them more, sing them very softly.” The organ began to play the final verse, and two thousand voices whispered:

Were the whole realm of nature mine,
That were an offering far too small;
Love so amazing, so divine,
Demands my soul, my life, my all.

In our Gospel reading today, we read, “The Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father’s only son, full of grace and truth.” The Word became flesh, and true love was born into the world in the person of Jesus Christ. What Isaac Watts states in that last verse is that if the universe and all that is in it were his, it would still not be enough—it would be too little to give—in exchange for the love that is Jesus, and therefore demands everything of him: his soul, his life, his all.

Therefore, William Temple was challenging his congregation with those words. If you give your all for God, holding nothing back, not even life itself, then boldly sing out those words. If you do not intend to give any part of your life for the love of Christ, keep your mouth shut, however, if you want to mean them. If you’re trying to mean those words, then whisper them. It’s a bit like Archbishop Michael Ramsey said regarding prayer. There will be days when you can pray, but there will also be those days when you can’t, so on those days, pray that you can pray. Temple is saying that if we are not giving our soul, our life, and all our life for the love of Christ, but you want to, you desire to, then whisper the words.

Were the whole realm of nature mine,
That were an offering far too small;
Love so amazing, so divine,
Demands my soul, my life, my all.

I think we would all like to sing out that verse boldly, but I suspect for many of us, it is only with a faint whisper that we can join in. My prayer for you and me is that tomorrow, we might all just be able to whisper them a bit more loudly. In the meantime, we must rely on grace to cover the difference.

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Sermon: All Saints Sunday RCL B – “Be a Saint”

The human body is a fantastic creation, yet most of us don’t give it a second thought until something breaks. It’s a bit like what Jerry Seinfeld said, “The human body is like a condominium. The thing that keeps you from really enjoying it is the maintenance.” Outside of the maintenance, when we do think of it, we are primarily concerned with the outward appearance. Am I fit? How’s my hair? Do I have blemishes? “Honey, does this dress make me look fat?” That sort of thing. However, as interesting as all that can be, what goes on below the surface of the flesh is mindblowing—a few examples.

Did you know that when you listen to music, your heartbeat changes and attempts to mimic the beat? It is why soothing jazz slows you down, and that old-time rock-n-roll gets your blood moving.

The fastest-moving muscle in your body is the one that controls the contractions in your eye, helping you to focus. It does its job in 1/100th of a second.

Every second, you produce 25 million new cells. 

If you live to 70, your heart will beat about 2.5 billion times; it is the only muscle that never gets tired. 

The one fact that seems beyond belief is the circulatory system. A newborn’s circulatory system—all the arteries and veins—if stretched end to end, is 60,000 miles long. When you are an adult, it reaches 100,000 miles.

All this and more is happening, but when we look at another person, we see none of it. 

If you’ve seen any of my travel pictures, you probably picked up on the fact that I haunt churches. The churches are the number one places to see when I visit a new city. I don’t know much about architecture or art, but I love the feel of them—how you can sit quietly and be surrounded by the centuries of prayers, sense the individuals who walked through and learn of the great history that took place in and around those walls. And most of all, to simply be there. Inside, you experience the awe and reverence that spills from your soul as the church’s grandness speaks of the greatness of God.

When I’m visiting one, I never think about everything that is going on behind the scenes. I don’t think about the choirmaster toiling away in a back office seeking the perfect hymn to fit with the upcoming services or the organist, who spends hours practicing so that the music is perfect. I don’t think about the individuals who polish the floors or pay the bills. When I see an ornate pulpit, I don’t necessarily think of the priest—I say to myself, “Man, I sure would like to preach from there.” It never crosses my mind that they may have a new refrigerator that makes a weird banging sound, but they can’t get anyone out to look at it, so they must call repeatedly. I can’t imagine someone there spending a couple of hours researching how to get the oxidation off the big red doors so that they aren’t the big pink doors. I don’t think about any of those things and so many other details. I am allowed to experience the greatness of God and His majesty and to worship when I am there. Why? Because I may not be thinking about or doing all those things, but someone is. 

The pictures of the pyramids are on the front of your bulletin. I was looking at something and came across the one on the right. The pyramids are in the distance, with the city at the forefront. I wondered where that was. As it turns out, it is the exact same location as the picture on the left. That image on the left is how I always thought of the pyramids—isolated from the world, surrounded by the beautiful sands of the desert, the clear blue sky, and the remarkable symmetry of the structures, but it is only the angle from which you are looking. I had no idea. If we were there, facing the pyramids from the angle of the picture on the left, that is what we would see. If we turn 180°, the city is right there in all its chaos! 

Walking into this church, I have the benefit of being able to see it from many angles.  This—looking out at you—is my favorite view. It is like seeing the pyramids in all their glory—beautiful sand, blue sky, perfectly ordered—but if I change the angle and “look behind me,” it can be wild. Everything that had to take place and get done so that we could be here at this very moment, experiencing God together. However, what is even more fascinating is all that occurred in the past so that we could be here in the first place.

There’s a great film, Lucy, with… hubba hubba, you guessed it… Scarlett Johansson. In one scene, she sits in an office chair in Times Square in New York. Then, she swipes her hand and begins a rapid rewind of time. She stops the rewind; it is still Times Square, but it is being built. She swipes again; the city is gone, and she is seated in front of several Native Americans. Again, she swipes and continues to go further and further back. Through the process, she sees all that had to take place for her to be in that present moment. What if we could do the same with St. Matthew’s? What would we see? Not just what took place in the past week for us to be here but what took place over the centuries for us to be here. We would see the Bishops and the clergy and the people and would see the Land Run. Further back, we would see the establishment of the Anglican Church in the New World, and further and further until we see Jesus standing in front of a tax collector, saying to him, “Follow me.”

During all that 2,000-year history, you will discover many great women and men who made it possible for us to be here today. They are the ones we celebrate on this All Saints Day, but as I was thinking about them, I thought again about sitting in Scarlett’s chair and not swiping back, but instead swiping forward—into the future. If we did, what would we see in this place? 

James Lloyd Breck is one of the saints of our Church. He was a great missionary and, in 1842, founded Nashotah House, the seminary I attended.  He died in 1897, and on a gray autumn day in October, the people gathered at Nashotah House to lay him to rest. In attendance were Bishop Daniel Sylvester Tuttle, the first missionary Bishop of Montana, and Bishop Francis Key Brooke, the first Missionary Bishop of Oklahoma. Bishop Tuttle spoke at the graveside.

“There was a Grecian race in which the runners were charged to care not for themselves, nor indeed for each other, but for the torch they bore. As one and another, wearied and overcome, fell by the way, he held aloft his torch, handing it to a comrade who seized it quickly and sped on. So, with the torch borne by the Christian man. It has a triple flame: God’s truth, Christ’s love, men’s good. We are to hold it up and pass it on. One or another of us is soon to fall in the hard-trodden, dusty path. But never mind us, it is dust to dust, though it may be sacred dust that falls, and God will take care of it. Do not mind us; seize the torch, we pray you, and push on to the blessed goal.”

Those who went before us, all the Saints and that Great Cloud of Witnesses, carried that torch, and when they fell, someone else picked it up. And so, it is now our turn. We must pick up the torch with its triple flame, “God’s truth, Christ’s love, men’s good,” and carry it into the future so that when we fall back into dust, there will be someone new to pick it up and carry on.

It is a gift to be able to gather in this place, to be concerned with nothing other than the worship of the One True God, and to have fellowship with one another. It is a gift, but we must all turn and understand what makes this gift possible. 

Like the saints that have gone before us, we have the responsibility to pick up that torch with its triple flame and carry it so that when the next generation picks it up, it is burning all the brighter. 

How are we able to carry it? We carry it through our service to one another and the church—our attendance and participation in corporate worship, volunteering, helping in the various ministries, going out into the community and proclaiming the Gospel through word and deed, and financially supporting the Church as we are able.

We celebrate All Saints Day to honor those who have gone before us and to remind ourselves of who we are to become. 

So, if you sit in Scarlett’s chair and fast forward into St. Matthew’s future, what do you want to see? When you see a vision of that future, ask yourself, “How can I help create that?” Then, in faithfulness and obedience, commit yourself to God, pick up that torch, and carry on.

Let us pray: Almighty ever-living God, by whose gift we venerate in one celebration the merits of all the Saints, bestow on us, we pray, through the prayers of so many intercessors, an abundance of the reconciliation with you for which we earnestly long. Through our Lord Jesus Christ, your Son, who lives and reigns with you in the unity of the Holy Spirit, God, for ever and ever. Amen

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