Tag: sermon

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Sermon: Proper 18 RCL A – “Motivation?”

Photo by Alexander Andrews on Unsplash

A young youth pastor began his work in a very conservative church with Scandinavian roots. The young man was rather forward-looking and creative, but his church… not so much. One day, the youth pastor decided to show the youth group a missionary film—a simple, safe, black-and-white, religious-oriented movie. The film projector hadn’t been off an hour before a group of the leaders in the church called him in and asked him about what he had done. They asked, “Did you show the young people a film?” In all honesty, he responded, “Well, yeah, I did.” “We don’t like that,” they replied. Without trying to be argumentative, the youth worker reasoned, “Well, I remember that at the last missionary conference, our church showed slides…”

One of the church officers put his hand up, signaling him to cease talking. Then, he emphatically explained the young man’s error in these words: “If it’s still, fine. If it moves, sin!” You can show slides, but when they start movin’, you’re gettin’ into sin.

All y’all need to stop fidgeting out there. You’re sinnin’!

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and it would seem that, in many cases, so is sin.

A story comes to us of Blessed Alcuin of York. (Alcuin was a preserver of great Christian texts, which is why we still have the Collect of Purity, which we say at the beginning of each Mass: “Almighty God, to you all hearts are open, all desires are known, and from you no secrets are hid….”) The story says that when he was eleven, he woke in the middle of the night being attacked by vicious demons. Why? He believed he was not as zealous as he should be and had a taste for classical literature. In his fear, he cried out, “O Lord Jesus, if thou wilt deliver me from [these demons’] bloody hands, and afterward [if] I am negligent of the vigils of the Church and of the service of lauds, and continue to love Virgil more than the melody of the Psalms, then may I undergo such correction…” (Source)

So, movin’ is sinnin’, and so is Virgil. The list goes on. However, regardless of what is and what isn’t, the Church is responsible for being a guide. Not to act as judge and jury but as counselor and reconciler. This is not only the role of the Church; it is also true for us all. If we sin, we are called to be reconciled to one another long before the Church gets involved.  Unfortunately, we as individuals are about as good at it as the Church has been.

According to our Gospel reading today, there is a correct way for Christian people to go about correcting one another, but, like the Church, we take a more antagonistic and confrontational approach. Speaking of the early days, one of the Desert Fathers said, “In the beginning, when we got together, we used to talk about something, and it was good for our souls, and we went up and up, and ascended even to heaven. But now we get together and spend our time in criticizing everything, and we drag one another down into the abyss.” Say it ain’t so? Yet, if we seek to be reconciled to one another properly, we can often make amends, but on occasion, it needs to be taken to the next level. 

According to the Gospel, the next step is to bring in two or three others. Think of it in terms of arbitration or mediation. You’re not looking to go out and find people who will “be on your side” so that you can gang up on the other person, but instead, you are looking for those who might help facilitate a conversation, bringing about peace. If this fails, the next step is to bring it to the Church. Why bring it to the Church? Simple. The Church always gets it right. 

You disagree? Jesus said, “Where two or three are gathered in my name, I am there among them.” We are more than three, we are Christians, and we are the Church, so naturally, Jesus is with us and unquestioningly signs off on everything we decide.

The date: November 27, 1095. Place: Clermont, France. An excerpt from the speech: “Under Jesus Christ, our Leader, may you struggle for your Jerusalem, in Christian battle line, [that] most invincible line, even more successfully than did the sons of Jacob of old—struggle, that you may assail and drive out the Turks, more execrable than the Jebusites, who are in this land, and may you deem it a beautiful thing to die for Christ in that city in which he died for us.” The author of that speech was Pope Urban II. It was the call to the first of the eight major crusades, and it is estimated that five million individuals died during them. Was the Pope alone in his call to fight? No. Who agreed with him? Bernard of Clairvaux, Thomas Aquinas, Francis of Assisi, Catherine of Siena, to name a few. Certainly more than two or three. 

Do you think that Jesus was in the midst of this? Do you think that was something Jesus wanted His most Sacred Name attached to? When two or three come together, do we always get it right? 

Today, we look at these events and say they were definitely wrong, but if you ask the individuals involved, they would tell you they were spot on. They would say to you that they had heard the voice of God, had come to an agreement in the name of God—Deus vult!—were definitely right, and Jesus was with them.

So, if such colossal errors can be made, how can we know we are on the right path? How can we know that Jesus is truly with us? Perhaps this is heresy, but given our track record, I’m not at all convinced that we can. However, I do believe that we can move in the right direction. Return to the first step, “If another member of the church sins against you, go and point out the fault when the two of you are alone.” That is a good and holy way to act, but one of the first things you must ask yourself before confronting that person is, “What is my motivation? Why do I feel the need to go to that person?”

Why ask that? So often, our motivation is not as pure as we would like to think. “They made me feel bad, so I’m going to make them feel guilty. I want to hurt them like they hurt me. I want them to know they didn’t get away with anything. Or worse, I’m going to tell them so that I can do what the Bible said so that I can then go out and tell everyone!” Ever done that? No? Never? See me for confession after the service cause you know you just lied.

If someone sins against you, before you go to them and attempt to be reconciled to them, ask yourself, “What is motivating me to go? Am I seeking to fulfill some personal agenda, or to change them according to my way of seeing things? Am I hoping to force them to apologize, or do I truly want to be reconciled to them?” You see, reconciliation is partially about right and wrong, but primarily and more importantly, it is about restoring a broken relationship, so until you can determine what is motivating you, you will not be acting according to the teachings of Jesus.

Jesus says, “Truly I tell you, whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven.” However, before we begin, we must first determine what motivates us. If that motivation is not based on reconciliation and relationship, then before we can attempt to bind and loose others, we must first bind our own sinful nature and let loose the love of God within us.

When someone has sinned against you, for there to be forgiveness and reconciliation, you—not the sinner—will have to do the hard work. When you begin that work, check your motivation so that the sin that was committed against you does not cause you to sin in response. As Jesus taught, be “gentle and humble of heart” (Matthew 11:29) and allow the Spirit of God to work through you.

There are times when we and the Church must act with all authority upon those who sin and are unrepentant, but we must first exhaust all other options given to us by Christ.

Let us pray:
Heavenly Father,
through the obedience of Jesus,
Who offered His Life in the service of all;
help us with Your Kindness.
Make us strong through the Eucharist.
May we put into action the saving Mystery
we celebrate in the Mass.
Protect us with Your Love
and prepare us for eternal happiness.
Amen.

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Sermon: Teresa of Calcutta

A young woman prays, Jesus, my own Jesus – I am only Thine – I am so stupid – I do not know what to say but do with me whatever You wish – as You wish – as long as you wish. [But] why can’t I be a perfect Loreto Nun – here – why can’t I be like everybody else?  Jesus responds, I want Indian Nuns, Missionaries of Charity, who would be my fire of love amongst the poor, the sick, the dying and the little children … You are, I know, the most incapable person – weak and sinful but just because you are that – I want to use you for My glory.  Will you refuse?

Who was the young woman?  She was born Agnes Gonxha Bojaxhiu, but she is now known as the Saint of Calcutta – Mother Teresa.  That prayer dialogue she told to her superior in 1947.  In 1948, she was permitted to begin her ministry in India.  She started alone, a small woman in her white and blue habit.  When she died in 1997, the order she founded, the Missionaries of Charity, consisted of 610 missions in 123 countries, including the US.  In 1979, she won the Nobel Peace Prize for her humanitarian work.  She donated the $192,000 cash prize to the poor of India.  Let’s face it: when we get to heaven and stand in line waiting to get through the pearly gates, she really is the one we do not want to find ourselves behind.

Another prayer from her: “Lord, my God, who am I that You should forsake me? … Where is my Faith – even deep down right in there is nothing, but emptiness and darkness … I am told God loves me – and yet the reality of darkness and coldness and emptiness is so great that nothing touches my soul.  Heaven means nothing.” (Source, p.186)  Those sound like the words of someone who has lost their faith and left the church.  Someone who no longer believes in God, yet those are also the words of Mother Teresa.

God called her to serve the poor in India, but she reports feeling spiritually dry for the fifty years that followed.  Empty.  She later would find comfort in the words that Jesus spoke from the Cross, “My God, My God.  Why have you forsaken me?”  She came to understand that in His distance, God was keeping her humble so that she would not take pride in her successes, but that still did not make it any less painful.

When I read these revelations of Mother Teresa’s life in one of her biographies, Come Be My Light, I couldn’t help but think of a passage from the Song of Solomon: “My lover tried to unlatch the door, and my heart thrilled within me.  I jumped up to open the door for my love, and my hands dripped with perfume.  My fingers dripped with lovely myrrh as I pulled back the bolt.  I opened to my lover, but He was gone!  My heart sank. I searched for Him but could not find Him anywhere.  I called to Him, but there was no reply.”

The young woman knew the thrill and beauty of her lover, but now He was gone and lost to her.  The same was true for Mother Teresa; she knew the love of Jesus deep within her heart.  She had spoken to Him and had visions of Him, but then He was nowhere to be found. 

We all experience these dry, empty seasons when God seems to have completely turned away and forgotten us.  I don’t know how well I would do if I had to endure fifty years of it, but during those times, the most important thing we can do is follow the example that Mother Teresa set: to remain faithful to what God originally called you to.  Do not see these dry spells as God abandoning you, but see them as God trusting you and the Spirit He has placed in your soul.  He has faith in you to persevere in good times and… not so good times.  When all else fails, be obedient as Jesus was — “obedient unto death, even to death on a cross.”

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Sermon: Proper 17 RCL A – “You are Here”

Photo by Fallon Michael on Unsplash

Mr. Moore was teaching map reading in his earth sciences class at Delacroix High School. After explaining latitude, longitude, degrees, and minutes, the teacher asked, “Suppose I asked you to meet me for lunch at 23 degrees, 4 minutes north latitude and 45 degrees, 15 minutes east longitude…?”

After a moment of silence, T Boudreaux volunteered, “I suppose you’d be eating alone.”

T Boudreaux is one of those who would look at a wayfaring map with a “You are here” arrow and ask, “How do it know?”

“Jesus began to show his disciples that he must go to Jerusalem and undergo great suffering… be killed, and on the third day be raised.” Peter likely heard that last bit but did not understand it, so he said to Jesus, “God forbid it, Lord! This must never happen to you.” Jesus turned and said to Peter, “Get behind me, Satan! You are a stumbling block to me; for you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.”

How easy it would be to criticize Peter. “Who are you to question God? Why are you being so thick about all this? You have failed again.” Read the right way; we can hear all those things in Jesus’ voice, but that ‘voice’ we can imagine does not reflect the character of Jesus we know. 

Jesus, who knew the hearts and minds of so many, would also have known the heart of Peter. He would know that Peter was saying these things because Peter was distraught at the thought of losing his Lord. The one who said, “Love one another,” would not lash out in such a manner we can imagine. If anything, I think Jesus’ voice was one of love and compassion but also firm. He didn’t want Peter, or any of the others, deceiving themselves at this point. What was coming was going to happen. No question. 

If Jesus had shown Peter a map, there would be a single road. A road that led to Jerusalem and onto Golgotha—the hill on which Jesus was crucified. There would be one of those arrows that said, “You are here,” implying that you are going there, and there’s no changing it. 

Jesus was saying to Peter, ‘I am exactly where I am supposed to be. This cannot be changed. I must be obedient to the Father and not to my emotions or desires.’ Could Jesus have fought it? Could he have turned and forged a new road, a new direction for His life? Yes. Jesus had as much free will as you and I. Did Jesus have every reason to complain bitterly? To pitch a fit about how unfair His life was? To take out His anger and frustrations on those around Him? Absolutely, He could have. ‘This is so unfair! I deserve better than this! I am entitled!’ Jesus could have done and said whatever he liked, but He chose to submit to the will of the Father and be obedient. 

With that in mind, Jesus said to Peter and the other disciples, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.” Jesus said, ‘You are here—at this place and at this time. This is—right now—your life. Take up your cross. You also, be obedient and take up this life the Father has given you, and follow Me.’ You are here regardless of the circumstances—good, bad, or indifferent, so submit and be obedient to the will of the Father. That is a message for us as well.

As we seek to follow the will of God, our path will not be as clear as the one that Jesus was following. There are days if we know the next step, we are doing good, but what doesn’t change is the fact that at this very moment, “You are here.” Where you are is not random. In addition, you may not be happy with where you are, but you are not outside of God’s will for your life. Trust me. You don’t have that kind of power.

The Psalmist writes,
O Lord, you have searched me and known me!
You know when I sit down and when I rise up;
you discern my thoughts from afar.
You search out my path and my lying down
and are acquainted with all my ways.
Even before a word is on my tongue,
behold, O Lord, you know it altogether….
in your book were written, every one of them,
the days that were formed for me,
when as yet there was none of them. (Psalm 139:1-4, 16b)

If you believe those words, then you believe that God knew your every step, every choice, every breath before you were even created. Therefore, if “You are here,” God ordained that you be here. You are here. This is your life; therefore, the call on your life—at this very moment—is to take up your cross and follow Jesus. That is easy to say, yet amid life’s circumstances, we can sometimes experience the same emotions as Peter and say, “God forbid it, Lord! This must never happen! This is unfair! I deserve more! I am entitled to more!” There can be weeping and gnashing of teeth. We can strike out in anger and frustration at others and ourselves, but God persists, “You are here.” If we persist in our rantings to God, I suppose He might eventually come back on us the same way He did Job,

“Who is this that darkens counsel by words without knowledge?
Dress for action like a man;
I will question you, and you make it known to me.
“Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth?
Tell me, if you have understanding.” (Job 38:2-4)

God said to Job, ‘You, sir, are out of order. It is not your place to question why certain things happen.’

So, consider this: if God ordains that you be here—with the circumstances good, bad, or indifferent—could it be that “You are here,” and “here” is exactly where you are supposed to be, just as Jesus was exactly where He was supposed to be? Is that fatalistic? No. It’s just the opposite. If we are where we are supposed to be, then God is here with us. Instead of being frustrated and angry, we should be rejoicing that we are not alone. It doesn’t mean life won’t be difficult and we are supposed to do the happy dance for everything that comes our way, but it does mean we can calm our souls and be at peace, taking up our cross and following Jesus. But what about those times when it all becomes too much? Hans Urs von Balthasar was a Roman Catholic theologian. In one of his books, he was writing specifically for priests, but what he wrote applies to all. “The weight of pastoral Office becomes heavier than any man even in official position can bear. Therefore it is no longer the man who bears the cross, but the cross which bears the man.” (Source, p.124) The weight of our life, our cross, can become too much to bear, so in those circumstances, it is no longer us that carry our cross; the cross—Jesus, carries us.

Rainer Maria Rilke (d.1926) was an Austrian poet. Some of his poems were mystical and spoke of his search for understanding God. His poem, Extinguish My Eyes, speaks to this idea of encountering God, even in loss.

Extinguish my eyes, I still can see you,
Close my ears, I can hear your footsteps fall,
And without feet I still can follow you,
And without voice I still can to you call.
Break off my arms, and I can embrace you,
Enfold you with my heart as with a hand.
Hold my heart, my brain will take fire of you
As flax ignites from a lit fire-brand—
And flame will sweep in a swift rushing flood
Through all the singing currents of my blood.

Regardless of our circumstances or our state—without eyes, ears, feet, and all—we can still grasp Christ and be grasped by Him. Still burn with the joy of our cross, the life we have been blessed with.

My friend Thomas à Kempis understood the joy of the cross that Christ offers us, so he wrote, “Why, then, do you fear to take up the cross when through it you can win a kingdom? In the cross is salvation, in the cross is life, in the cross is protection from enemies, in the cross is infusion of heavenly sweetness, in the cross is strength of mind, in the cross is joy of spirit, in the cross is highest virtue, in the cross is perfect holiness. There is no salvation of soul nor hope of everlasting life but in the cross.” (Source: TAK IOC Bk 2, Ch 12)

You are here. With joy and peace, take up your cross and follow Jesus.

Let us pray:
Eternal Father,
May we see Your Son, Jesus, clearly
Pouring out love
Pouring out mercy
Pouring out peace
May we kneel before him in humble adoration
May we take up our cross and follow
And walk with Christ into the ways of life.
Amen.

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Sermon: Margaret Ward, Margaret Clitherow, and Anne Line

I have shared a quote from Archbishop of Canterbury Michael Ramsey with you in the past: “The Church is not the society of those labeled virtuous.  It is the mixed community of sinners called to be saints.” Unfortunately, the Church can sometimes be more sinner than saint.

The Reformation in the English Church was more political before it was theological, and the issues between the monarch and the Pope were going on long before Henry VIII, but it very much came to a head during Henry’s reign. 

The theological issues had to do with Luther and the protestant message, but the political had to do with who gets to be boss. Would it be the monarch or some guy in a pointy had a thousand miles away? The issue would not resolve itself for years to come, so it was still at play when Elizabeth I ascended the throne in 1558. 

There was no love lost between Rome and Queen Elizabeth I, and finally, in 1570, Elizabeth was excommunicated by Pope Pius V. I don’t think it bothered Elizabeth; however, what did bother her was the fact that the Pope said that Roman Catholics living in England no longer had to be obedient to her. What exacerbated the problem was that Mary, Queen of Scots, was in Scotland, and she was a Catholic stalwart and beacon to all those disgruntled Catholics who were no longer required to be obedient. Therefore, Elizabeth feared Mary might raise an army and come against her. We know that Elizabeth would eventually sign Mary’s death warrant, but in the meantime, she enacted several measures attempting to reign in the Catholics. 

The first measure was the 1581 Act of Persuasion against the recusants. (A recusant is one who is disobedient.) The act stated that if you were disobedient to the monarch, you would face steep fines (this got the attention of the rich) and imprisonment. However, it did not affect the changes Elizabeth had hoped for, so in 1585, she signed the Act against Priest.

This act stated that any priest ordained abroad since 1559 was automatically deemed a traitor and given forty days to leave the country or face arrest and execution. Furthermore, anyone attempting to harbor a Roman priest was also to be arrested and executed. This is where the three women we remember today enter: Margaret Ward, Margaret Clitherow, and Anne Line.

All three of these women were martyrs, and Margaret Clitherow was the first. Her home was searched, and a young boy who was afraid revealed the priest hole (where priests were hidden). Although pregnant with her fourth child, she was executed. 

Next was Margaret Ward. She helped a priest escape prison by smuggling in small pieces of rope, which he wove together and made a proper rope. The priest managed to escape, but Ward’s actions were discovered. Before her execution, she rejoiced, for, as she said, “Having delivered an innocent lamb from the hands of those bloody wolves.”

Finally, a raid on Anne Line’s home resulted in her arrest for the same crime as the others. The priest she was harboring also managed to escape (it bothers me a bit to think of them escaping while these women were dying). She told her accusers she was only grieved because she “could not receive a thousand more” priests to save.

St. Paul tells us in his letter to the Romans, “For one will scarcely die for a righteous person—though perhaps for a good person one would dare even to die.” (Romans 5:7) Jesus tells us, “Greater love has no one than this, that someone lay down his life for his friends.” (John 15:13)

Were the priests that were being saved, good people? I don’t know—not my department—but I do know that these three ladies showed the “greater love” that Jesus spoke of. We may never be called on to give our lives in such a way, but we are all called to demonstrate “greater love” to the world by making sacrifices so that the word of God may be proclaimed.

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Sermon: Bartholomew

St Bartholomew (c. 1611) by Peter Paul Rubens (Bartholomew is often depicted with a knife that would be used to flay him alive.)

Mark’s Gospel tells us, “Then [Jesus] came to Capernaum.  And when He was in the house He asked [the disciples], ‘What was it you disputed among yourselves on the road?’  But they kept silent, for on the road they had disputed among themselves who would be the greatest.”

Then there’s that little episode in Matthew’s Gospel: “Then the mother of Zebedee’s sons came to Him with her sons, kneeling down and asking something from Him.  And He said to her, ‘What do you wish?’  She said to Him, ‘Grant that these two sons of mine may sit, one on Your right hand and the other on the left, in Your kingdom.’”

Like the kings of the Gentiles that Jesus spoke of in our Gospel reading or anyone else for that matter, including the disciples, given half the opportunity and the means to do it, many will seek to hold power, whether for good or evil, so that they can hold reign over others. Still, in looking at this issue of power, I came across a recent study completed by three major universities, which states an even deeper root behind certain individuals’ desire for power.  Not only do they want to rule over others, but they also want autonomy.  They want no one to rule over them.  The study’s authors write: “Power as influence is expressed in having control over others, which could involve responsibility for others.  In contrast, power as autonomy is a form of power that allows one person to ignore and resist the influence of others and thus to shape one’s own destiny.”  (Source) When individuals seek power, yes, perhaps they seek to rule over others, but in many cases, they desire that no one rule over them.

Not only did Jesus tell his disciples that they should not be the ones desiring to rule over others, but he also told them that they should be the servants of all, not seeking their own will, but the will of the Father: “Thy kingdom come… thy will be done.”

That may sound unfair, but it is precisely what Christ did: “Not my will but Yours.”  As the Apostle Paul wrote to the church at Philippi, “Have this attitude in yourselves which was also in Christ Jesus, who, although He existed in the form of God, did not regard equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied Himself, taking the form of a bond-servant, and being made in the likeness of men.”  That is our goal as well, and as it is the Feast of St. Bartholomew, we can see that it was his also. After witnessing the death and resurrection of Jesus, Bartholomew gave up his life, being first skinned alive and then beheaded. He did so for the sake of the Gospel. 

Our loyalty to Jesus is not about the power we can gain or wield over others. Instead, it is about His power working in us so that we, through sacrifice, might transform the world around us.

The prayer of St. Theodore the Studite attests to this sacrifice and obedient submission of Bartholomew, so I’ll close with it. 

Let us pray: “Hail, O blessed of the blessed, thrice-blessed Bartholomew! You are the splendor of Divine light, the fisherman of holy Church, expert catcher of fish which are endowed with reason, sweet fruit of the blooming palm tree! You wound the devil who wounds the world by his crimes! May you rejoice, O sun illumining the whole earth, mouth of God, tongue of fire that speaks wisdom, fountain ever flowing with health! You have sanctified the sea by your passage over it; you have purpled the earth with your blood; you have mounted to heaven, where you shine in the midst of the heavenly host, resplendent in the splendor of undimmable glory! Rejoice in the enjoyment of inexhaustible happiness!  Amen.”

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Sermon: Proper 15 RCL A – “Madness”

Photo by nikko macaspac on Unsplash

Ol’ Boudreaux had never been up in one of those flying machines until one day when some fella came along offering rides. All of Boudreaux’s friends put down their money and took the ride, but Boudreaux just couldn’t trust it. Finally, when his friends started calling him “chicken” and “scaredy cat,” Bou agreed. He got all strapped in, and the pilot took off. When the flight ended, everyone rushed up and asked how it went. Once he had a little nip and got his nerves back, he said, “It wasn’t too bad, but I never really trusted it, so I never put all my weight down in the seat.”

If I had a favorite televangelist, it would have to be Jesse Duplantis—kind of a crazy southern fella with plenty of stories. When I was living in Montana, Jesse came to the capital city for a revival, and I had to see him, so a friend and I drove up. It was everything I expected, except for the beginning. 

If you’ve ever watched one of the events, you know that they do all the preaching and shouting up front, and then at the end, they start the healing—lots of slapping on the foreheads and all that. However, Jesse did just the opposite. He always talked about “being sick and tired of being sick and tired,” so he had the healing service at the beginning. He said, “There’s no point in you sitting all the way through the sermon feeling sick and tired if I can heal you now.” So, he did.

I thought of that for two reasons. First, today, following the confession and before the peace, we will be offering the Sacrament of Unction—the sacrament of healing. For the record, I will not be slapping anyone on the forehead unless they need it. The second reason for telling you about Jesse is because this is back-to-church Sunday. The youth are back in school, and we begin to settle into more of a routine instead of all the goings on of summer. In a way, today is the beginning, and like Jesse, I thought we’d offer the healing up front instead of waiting.

Much is happening in today’s Gospel, but there is the healing of a little girl. A gentile woman came to Jesus and said, “Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David; my daughter is tormented by a demon.” A discussion follows regarding Jesus’ mission on earth, but in the end, “‘Woman, great is your faith! Let it be done for you as you wish.’ And her daughter was healed instantly.”

Unlike ol’ Boudreaux, who didn’t trust enough to put all his weight down, this woman did. Great is your faith—your trust—in God to do those things you ask.

I found a quote in my daily reading. It is from a 19th-century Russian mystic, Vladimir Soloviev. He said, “It is madness not to believe in God; it is the greater madness to believe in Him only in part.” (Source, August 15) It is madness not to fly. It is even greater madness not to put all your weight down. 

If you believe in God, then why do you not trust Him completely? Why do you “believe in Him only in part”? When you call out, “Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David,” do you believe God will answer, or are you putting it out there just in case He’s in the mood?

Last week, I went down to Austin to visit friends. While there, I had a few hours to myself, so I did what we all do—I visited a church to pray a rosary. 

The church I selected was a Maronite Church. They are an Eastern Catholic Church instead of a Western (Roman) Catholic Church. Anyhow, I read up on them on the internet, saw that they were open, and it was only about a mile away, so I decided to walk.

Did I mention it was 105° and there was an excessive heat advisory? Yeah, Mr. Brilliant here. I take off. I arrive at the church soaking wet, sweat running off me, only to discover that the church is locked up tight. Only the office was open, and no one was around. I look around for a few minutes, then sit on a bench in the shade to cool off. Since I was there, I decided to go ahead and pray my Rosary and then call an Uber to get back to the hotel.

I made it through two decades of the Rosary and had not cooled down at all. It seemed I was only getting hotter, so my prayers were very distracted, and I didn’t feel like I could… connect, so I said to Mary, you could send me a nice cool breeze so I’ll know you’re there. It was more a silly prayer than a proper prayer.

About halfway through the third decade, I heard a noise and looked up. It was the priest (it turns out it was actually the Bishop.) He invited me to come inside and finish my prayers, and I quickly took him up on the offer. Somewhere along the fourth decade of the Rosary, I looked up and burst out laughing as the cool breeze of the air-conditioner blew on me. I never really expected Mary to send me a cool breeze, but she did. I believed, but I didn’t really believe. I never really sat down.

When you call out, “Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David,” regardless of whether or not you think your request is silly or not, go ahead and sit all the way down. Know that your words are being heard and that your Father in Heaven is answering. 

Let us pray: O Christ Jesus, when all is darkness, and we feel our weakness and helplessness, give us the sense of Your presence, Your love, and Your strength. Help us to have perfect trust in Your protecting love and strengthening power so that nothing may frighten or worry us, for living close to You, we shall see Your hand, Your purpose, and Your will through all things. Amen.

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Sermon: The Assumption of Mary

by Fra Angelico

Although we are not a part of the Roman Catholic Church, we follow many of the practices they have established. Although we are not a protestant church, we believe much of what they have brought to the discussion. We, as Episcopalians, are the “bridge church” between Roman Catholicism and Protestantism, which means, for the most part, we agree with both. That being said, we do pretty well with either, but the two have some significant differences, so if you ever want to watch a catfight between them, bring up some contentious doctrine and step back—take for example, Papal Infallibility. I’ve no way of proving it, but my guess as to the cause of this animosity on this topic is that 95% of both groups have no idea what Papal Infallibility means.

What does it not mean? Papal Infallibility does not mean that every word the Pope speaks is infallible and that he is without error. Even the popes agree with this. Pope Francis stated, “The Pope is not an oracle; he is infallible on the rarest of occasions, as we know.” 

So the Popes are not infallible, but there have been occasions when they’ve spoken and what they’ve said is understood as infallible. This occurs when they speak ex cathedra—“from the chair” of St. Peter—and is a very specific process under strict rules. The exact number of times it has occurred is up for debate, but there are only seven definitive incidents. Two of these involved the nature of Christ; one dealt with matters after death, two more were in response to heresy, and the final two pertained to the Blessed Virgin Mary. It is the last that we consider today.

In 1950, Pope Pius XII declared, “By the authority of our Lord Jesus Christ, of the Blessed Apostles Peter and Paul, and by our own authority, we pronounce, declare, and define it to be a divinely revealed dogma: that the Immaculate Mother of God, the ever Virgin Mary, having completed the course of her earthly life, was assumed body and soul into heavenly glory.” 

The Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary. It could not be imagined that Mary, whom God had chosen to bear His Son, would allow Mary’s body to be corrupted by death, so she was assumed—carried up—into Heaven and now lives the fully resurrected life we will attain on the last day. Some believe that she was carried up before she died, while others say that she died but then was immediately resurrected and carried up. Either way, she lives today as we will one day live.

The Feast of the Assumption fell off the Anglican calendar during the Reformation in England. It returned in the 20th century but has yet to be widely celebrated. Within the Episcopal Church, it remains a high feast day but only takes the general name of St. Mary the Virgin, omitting the word “assumption.”

Your salvation is not dependent upon your belief in this matter. Still, I believe your faith can be more deeply enriched by at least contemplating it, for, other than Christ Jesus, who else more wholly submitted to the will of God than Mary, the Mother of God?

I want to close with an excerpt from a sermon from an unknown Greek author: “Mary stood at your right hand, robed in a gown of gold, with adornment intricately wrought. Just as, being a woman, she was named queen and lady and Mother of God, so also now, standing as queen at the right hand of her most regal Son, she is celebrated in the sacred words of Scripture as clothed in the golden gown of incorruptibility. And so as we gaze upon him who is our king and lord and God, and upon her who is queen and lady and the Mother of God, contemplating them with the clear-sighted eye of our minds, let us repeat again and again unceasingly: The queen stands at your right hand, robed in a gown of gold with adornment intricately wrought.” (Little Office of the Blessed Virgin Mary, p.165)

Blessed are you among women. And blessed is the fruit of your womb. Amen.

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Sermon: Sunday of the Transfiguration RCL A – “Sanctification”

Photo by Jurica Koletić on Unsplash

The time came for Acadia, Thibodeaux’s wife, to deliver her twins. All was set as they rushed into the hospital, and everything was prepped. However, the delivery was too much for Thibodeaux, and he passed out cold. It took hours to revive him, but in the meantime, the doctors insisted on naming the babbies. Since Thib was still out, Acadia turned to Thib’s brother, Remi, to help name the girl and the boy. 

“My brother named my kids?!” Thib’s shouted when he woke up. “But my brother’s an idgit! He barely knows his own name.” Pausing and taking a breath, he says, “Ok, what he done name the girl.”

“He named her Denise.”

“Denise?” Said, Thib. “Well, that’s not such a bad name. I kind of like it. And what did he call the little boy?”

“De Nephew.”

Even though it’s relatively common, I kind of like my name, but not everyone can say the same. For example, there was Issur Danielovitch Densky. He changed his name to Kirk Douglas. Frances Gum didn’t think her name would sell, so she became Judy Garland. Archibald Leach became Cary Grant. And who do you think Marion Morrison would become? John Wayne.

How great would it be if all it took was to change your name and become rich and famous? Or to become anything you wanted? To become an astronaut, I’ll become Neil Armstrong. To become a famous writer, call me Stephen King. But what about becoming a Saint? Call me Josemaría, and I’ll be holy.

In the end, “A rose by any other name….” As the philosopher Alan Watts said, “The menu is not the meal.”

Inside all of us is dark and light, and on any given day, one will be more prominent than the other, but the goal of the Christian life is for the light to illuminate every dark crevice and reveal the content of every shadow. Technically, this is known as sanctification. 

Simply put, sanctification is the process of becoming holy, allowing the light to shine through every aspect of our lives. There are three major components in the process, and all three are a form of grace given by God: baptism, living a life directed by God, and entry into the Kingdom of Heaven. 

Although some traditions believe that a person must make an adult profession of faith before being baptized, we do not—for us, that falls into the category of works; that is, you must do something in order to “earn” God’s grace. Instead, we believe that baptism is God’s undeserved grace being poured out on us, providing us “union with Christ in his death and resurrection, birth into God’s family the Church, forgiveness of sins, and new life in the Holy Spirit.” (BCP 858)

The third component, entry into the Kingdom of Heaven, is also a grace, which we have absolutely nothing to do with. For those who believe, St. Paul tells us, “Neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.” (Romans 8:38-39) 

We can view our baptism and ultimate entry into the Kingdom of Heaven as bookends to our life with God, but that bit between those two events gives us so much trouble. It is grace that allows us to live for God, but the sanctification—the making holy—process during our earthly lives is not exactly a smooth ride. Why? The light and the dark are both within us. 

Remember the parable of the wheat and tares/weeds? God sowed the good seed of the wheat, but at night, the devil came in and sowed the weeds so that when they began to grow, the wheat and the weeds grew up together. That speaks of the world and the people in it, but it also speaks of the soul. The light and the dark, the wheat and the weeds, are both within us. When we apply the parable to ourselves, the difference is that, with God’s grace, we can actually do something about the darkness, those weeds within our souls. That is the process of sanctification in this life. It is the transfiguration of the individual.

“While [Jesus] was praying, the appearance of his face changed, and his clothes became dazzling white,” Jesus was revealed in His glory. No darkness. No weeds. Not showing us the process of becoming holy, but showing us The Holy and the true image of God. But He was also showing us what we can become.

Brooke Foss Wescott was a 19th-century bishop in the Church of England. He was also someone whom Archbishop Michael Ramsey admired and studied. Bishop Wescott wrote, “The Transfiguration is the revelation of the potential spirituality of the earthly life in the highest outward form…. Here the Lord, as Son of Man, gives the measure of the capacity of humanity, and shows that to which he leads all those who are united with him.” (Glory: The Spiritual Theology of Michael Ramsey, p.59) 

The Transfiguration of Christ sets before us a goal for the work of sanctification—the work of becoming holy—in our lives, and this work is the means “by which men and women are restored to the image and likeness of God Himself.” (Ibid.) As Christ was transfigured on the mountain, we seek in our daily lives to be transfigured into the same glory that Jesus revealed on the mountain. So what’s stopping you?

Charlie Brown and Linus were leaning against the fence, both looking rather contemplative. Chuck then asks Linus, “What would you do if you felt that nobody liked you?”

Linus gives it a thought, then says, “I’d try to look at myself objectively, and see what I could do to improve… that’s my answer, Charlie Brown.”

In the final frame, Charlie Brown is not looking so happy and says, “I hate that answer.”

What is stopping you from being transfigured, from becoming holy as your Heavenly Father is holy? From continuing the process of sanctification? There are many factors, but it seems there are two primary ones, and the first one is that we don’t want to put in the effort. 

Most of you know that I’ll be taking a sabbatical next year, and for part of the time, I want to walk the Camino de Santiago—a short walk of 500 miles across northern Spain. In order to do this and live to tell about it, I will need to get in better shape. More walking, more strength building, losing a bit more weight, etc. In other words, I need to be training. “I hate that answer.” I really want to walk the Camino, but I’m not putting in the effort to be able to. 

The same applies to being holy. I want to be holy. I want to enter into a deeper relationship with my Savior, but am I putting in the effort? Praying as I should, studying as I should, loving as I should, and the list goes on. We know that we need to put in the effort and practice our faith, training our souls, but… “I hate that answer.” Why?

The second factor is also as simple but equally challenging—we don’t want to. Yes, we want to be holy, but we don’t want to change our lives to attain that holiness. Back to the Camino—I need to lose more weight, but I don’t want to put down the cookie. I like the cookie. I’m a big fan, and I’ll become an even bigger if I’m not careful, so I need to put down the cookie. “I hate that answer.” To be sanctified, I need to be willing to set aside those things in my life that separate me from God. I need to be willing to allow the transfiguring light of Christ to shine and banish the darkness within me.

We will not be wholly sanctified until we enter the Kingdom of God, but if we put in some effort and allow our love of God to override our love of self, then we will progress in our sanctification. We’ll be pulling some of the weeds that are growing up with the good wheat of our souls.

We know the names of Saints like Francis, Josemaría, Mary Magdalene, John Paul, and many others. We hold them up as examples of the Christian life, but we also view such a life as unattainable for ourselves. However, we should see the lives of the Saints as something to strive for. In the same way, we should look upon our Transfigured Lord. In seeing Him transfigured, we are witnessing what—by the grace of God—we have the potential to become. 

Don’t shy away from this work of sanctification or squelch the desire to attain it. Instead, through your love of God, seek out every opportunity to take steps in the sanctification of your soul.

A few words toward the end of St. Paul’s first letter to the Thessalonians make for a good blessing. I’ll close with them. “May God himself, the God of peace, sanctify you through and through. May your whole spirit, soul and body be kept blameless at the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ. The one who calls you is faithful, and he will do it.” Amen.

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Sermon: The Myrrh Bearing Women

Within the Orthodox Church, the Third Sunday of Easter is celebrated as the Sunday of the Holy Myrrhbearers, those women who came to anoint Jesus’ body following his burial. It falls on our calendar tomorrow.

Today, we read of Mary Magdalene, and Mary the mother of James, and Salome, but in reading the other Gospels, you will find different lists of names—eight in total: the Virgin Mary, Jesus’ mother; “the mother of James and Joses” (reportedly, these are the sons of Joseph by a previous marriage, and she was, therefore, their step-mother); Mary Magdalene; Mary, the wife of Clopas; Joanna, wife of Chouza, a steward of Herod Antipas; Salome, the mother of the sons of Zebedee; Mary and Martha, the sisters of Lazarus; and Susanna. (Source)

It is not believed that the Gospel writers got it wrong when listing the women; instead, it seems to indicate that different groups went separately and had varying experiences at the empty tomb. Whatever the case, because of their great love for him, they all went to the tomb to anoint the Body of Jesus, only to discover that the tomb was empty. But, if there was no Body, did that end their work? 

In a sermon, St. John Damascus (d.749) wrote for the Easter Season—“When You [Jesus] did descend unto death, O Life Immortal, then did You slay Hades with the lightening of Your Divinity. And when You did also raise the dead out of the nethermost depths, all the power in the Heavens cried out: O Life-giver, Christ our God, glory be to You. Glory to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit. The noble Joseph, taking Your immaculate body down from the Tree, and having wrapped it in pure linen and spices, laid it for burial in a new tomb. But on the third day You did arise, O Lord, granting great mercy to the world. Now and forever, and unto the ages of ages. Amen. Unto the myrrh-bearing women did the Angel cry out as he stood by the grave: Myrrh-oils are meet for the dead, but Christ has proved to be a stranger to corruption. But cry out: The Lord is risen, granting great mercy to the world.”

They could not anoint His Body because He had risen, but there was still work to be done; therefore, “cry out: The Lord is risen, granting great mercy to the world.” 

Their love for Jesus extended into the grave, giving them the courage to go out into the world and proclaim His resurrection. How far does your love for Jesus carry you? Once you learned that He was risen, how did you respond to the angel’s charge to go and tell?

Our work is not nearly done; therefore, as Peter said in our first reading, let everyone “know with certainty that God has made him both Lord and Messiah, this Jesus whom” was crucified.

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