Christmas Lessons and Carols

It is a tradition at Trinity to have a service of Lessons and Carols on the theme of the Nativity on the First Sunday after Christmas. With extended readings from scripture, this service does not usually include a sermon. 

In lieu of a sermon, we share with you today the Collect of the Day for the First Sunday after Christmas:

Almighty God, you have poured upon us the new light of your incarnate Word: Grant that this light, enkindled in our hearts, may shine forth in our lives; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.

May you have a blessed Twelve Days of Christmas!

We will return with a regular sermon next Sunday, January 6, the Feast of the Epiphany.

Christmas When Everything Else is Going On

by the Rev. Dr. Paul S. Nancarrow

This sermon is based on Luke 2:1-20. Click here to listen to an audio of this sermon. 

One day last week I was listening to a news program on the radio. I’d taken a moment to put aside all my planning and preparation and worrying for the Feast of the Nativity and just wanted to listen. I was listening for inspiration. And I heard a story about the fiscal cliff. And a story about the congressional probe into the State Department and the Benghazi embassy. There were stories about gun control and its proponents and its opponents. There was a story about Newtown, Connecticut and grief and healing. There was an opinion piece about violence in our society. There was a story about a meteorite strike in California. So many stories, so many things going on, so many things tugging this way and that for attention in our busy and sad and difficult and dangerous world. 

And then, as one story was ending and before the next began, they played a little bit of music. It was a piece played simply on classical guitar — and as soon as I heard it I thought “I know that! I know what that music is.” But I couldn’t identify it, I couldn’t quite place it, because it wasn’t a tune I was accustomed to hearing played on a solo guitar. I thought “This is supposed to have words, it’s supposed to have a choir” — and then it clicked, then it crystallized in my mind, and I knew it was “Joy to the world,” a familiar Christmas carol that sort of snuck up on me, because it was coming at me in an unfamiliar way. And because the words weren’t there in the version on the radio, I thought about them in my mind, I sort of savored them in my imagination: the Savior reigns; let every heart prepare him room; let heaven and nature sing. And there was something about that familiarity-with-difference, something about that unexpected recognition, something about hearing that classic Christmas carol in a whole new way that filled me with a sense of delight and wonder and beauty. So for a moment I sat there, listening to the news of the world, experiencing this one remarkable opening of Christmas blessing and Christmas joy.

And I thought to myself, “How odd. How ironic. How strange that the message and the meaning and the feeling of Christmas has to sneak in around the edges, has to come up on me by surprise when I’m paying attention to all this other stuff in the world. Isn’t it supposed to be that Christmas, the coming of Christ into the world, should take center stage, should be the most important thing of all?”

But then I thought, “Well maybe it’s not so strange. Maybe the coming of Christ always sneaks in around the edges, while the world is going on about its worldly business, and nobody else really seems to be paying attention.”

That’s the way it is in the Gospel story — that’s the way it is in this passage from Luke that we’ve just heard read. As Luke tells the story, everything is happening the way it always happens, and the birth of Jesus takes place out of the way, off in a corner, when no one’s paying attention, and only a handful of people recognize that the whole created world has just been changed.

As Luke tells the story, Bethlehem was bursting: the town was filled with people who’d been displaced from their homes and forced to come to Bethlehem for the Roman census. There wasn’t enough food and shelter and supplies for all those people; and the innkeepers and foodsellers and shopkeepers were not slow to recognize the economic potential of their newly scarce commodities. Mary and Joseph were on the street, with nowhere to go and no one to help them and not enough money to buy their way in this suddenly expensive and unfriendly town. The world of Bethlehem went on its worldly way, and working people had work to do, and merchants and artisans and carpenters and soldiers and sheepherders went about their business, and nobody really noticed the young couple ducking into a stable to find a quiet place away from all the noise and bustle and craziness and mess.

And that, Luke says, is how Christ came into the world: not on center stage, not in a moment of quiet and contemplation; but right in the thick of things, when everything else was going on, when no one in particular stopped to notice it. Only Mary and Joseph held their newborn boy, and looked into his eyes, and he looked back in theirs, as only a newborn can do — and they knew God’s love had been born into human life, and nothing else would ever be the same. Only the shepherds, out in the fields, the lowest of the working class, the ones everybody else ignored — only the shepherds looked up above the horizon, and saw a gleam and a glimmer and light in the sky that hadn’t been there before, and heard songs that no one else stopped to hear — and the shepherds knew they didn’t have to be afraid, and the promise of salvation was born for them, and it was good news for all people. 

In Luke’s story, the coming of Christ into the world sneaks in around the edges, it happens when people are paying attention to all this other stuff, it comes as a surprise, when only a few people notice that all creation is changed. When Christ comes, Luke says, he doesn’t wait for the world to be ready, or prepared, or paying attention; but Christ comes right in the middle of things, and right from the middle of things, the love of Christ changes everything.

And that’s how it is with us, too. The love of Christ at Christmas sneaks in around our edges, it comes to us as a surprise, in the middle of things — and the promise of love and compassion and peace and redemption, the promise of new life being born in us, transforms everything. The world goes about its worldly way, yet we know that God is with us, and in God’s love for us, everything is being made new.

And that is the kind of Christmas I invite you to celebrate this year. Right in the midst of things, look for the coming of Christ. Let Christ’s presence sneak in around the edges of your consciousness, and let the love of Christ be born in you in moments of surprise and wonder and joy. It may be when you’re listening to the news; it may be when you’re opening presents on Christmas morning; it may be when you are thinking about the grief of a friend or a community or yourself; it may be when you’re singing a Christmas carol at midnight mass; it may be when you’re sharing Christmas dinner with family and friends. However it comes to you, let the love of Christ sneak in around the edges and surprise you, when you see love in someone else’s eyes, when you ask forgiveness from a friend where there has been hurt, when you make a commitment to take an active role in reducing violence in our society, when you go over your tax records before the end of the year and decide to make another donation to another charitable work, when you feel the beginning of hope in a situation that seemed all but lost, when you sense new possibilities being born in a world where every new possibility is a gift. This Christmas, let the love of Christ sneak in around your edges, let the coming of Christ surprise you right in the midst of doing everything else, let the sudden birth of the Christ-life in you come in the middle of things and transform everything.

May God grant us all the gift of the Spirit at Christmas time, and may we live that Spirit in every time. Amen.

Blessed Are They Who Believe

by the Rev. Dr. Paul S. Nancarrow

This sermon is based on Luke 1:39-55. An audio version of this sermon is available at this link.

“Blessed is she who believed that there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her by the Lord.”

Those are the words with which Elizabeth brings to a climax the spontaneous outburst of praise and blessing that came to her when she greeted her young cousin Mary in our Gospel reading today. “Blessed is she who believed” is a kind of hook for the whole story to hang on. And it is a promise beyond the story for those of us who hear it.

But how does Elizabeth know just how blessed Mary is? Mary’s just arrived, Mary has not yet had a chance to tell Elizabeth the remarkable thing that has happened to her. How does Elizabeth know how to bless?

Partly it is because Elizabeth herself is in an unexpectedly blessed situation. Elizabeth is pregnant, six months along — and that’s unusual because Elizabeth and her husband Zechariah are old, “getting on in years” as Luke delicately puts it, and though they’ve tried for years they’ve never had any children. They were past hoping for that. And then the angel Gabriel appeared to Zechariah and told him that Elizabeth would bear a son, and their son would be great in the sight of the Lord, and he would turn many people to God, and make ready a people prepared for the Lord. And Zechariah had said “Oh I don’t think so — we’re too old for that.” And Gabriel had said “God’s word will be fulfilled; but since you have not believed it, you will not be able to speak any words until your son is born.” So Zechariah, mute, went home; and Elizabeth did conceive, impossible though it was; and they were overjoyed; and Elizabeth kept their good news to herself, and remained in seclusion for five months.

But in the sixth month something happens that needs Elizabeth’s attention. Her cousin Mary is on the doorstep, arrived in haste, clearly with something big, something extraordinary, something life-changing, going on with her. So Elizabeth goes out and brings Mary into the house and Mary greets her — presumably she says “Peace be with you,” because that was the common greeting of the time — and as soon as Elizabeth hears Mary’s greeting, Mary’s word of Peace, the child in her womb who will be John the Baptist gives a mighty kick, leaps, jumps for joy in utero. And Elizabeth herself is so surprised by this that the Holy Spirit uses that opening to fill her with insight, and she knows Mary’s story — without being told, she knows — and she witnesses Mary’s blessedness, that Mary’s child is her Lord, and that Mary is blessed because she believed.

And specifically, Mary is blessed because she believed “that there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her by the Lord.” When Gabriel came to Mary, as he had come to Zechariah before, and told her she would conceive and bear a son, Mary, like Zechariah, had asked “How can this happen?” She had her questions. But when Gabriel said “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you; therefore the child to be born will be holy; he will be called Son of God,” Mary had not said “Oh I don’t think so”; instead she said “Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word”;  and so it was. Even though by all human standards it was clearly impossible, Mary trusted that “nothing will be impossible with God,” and that these impossible words would be fulfilled.

But more is at stake here than just the fulfillment of Mary’s impossible pregnancy. Mary also believes there will be a fulfillment of the angel’s words — God’s words — that her son will receive the throne of David, and reign over the house of Jacob, and bring in a kingdom without end. That’s the vision Mary gives voice to in her Magnificat. Mary speaks of God’s mercy on generations; Mary speaks of the proud scattered in the thoughts of their hearts, the powerful brought down from their thrones, the rich exposed to the emptiness of their riches; Mary speaks of the faithful gathered, the lowly lifted up, the hungry filled with good things. And so powerful is Mary’s belief in the fulfillment of these things, that she speaks of them in the past tense, as things already accomplished, even though clearly they haven’t happened yet. In Mary’s world the Romans are still in control, and in a few months she and Joseph will by forced by Roman authority to leave their home and go to Bethlehem, where they will be counted in a census to determine how much tax money the Emperor can raise to fund his interminable wars and corrupt occupation government. In Mary’s world the rich show no sign of letting go of their riches, and the powerful show no sign of relinquishing their power, and the lowly and poor, like Mary herself, see no sign any significant change on their horizon.

But God has spoken, and Mary has heard it, and Mary trusts so completely that there will be a fulfillment of this speaking that she gives herself — mind and heart and soul and body — she gives herself to living out the fulfillment of God’s word in her life, and the life of her son within her, and Elizabeth’s life, and the lives of everyone who will be touched by what God is doing through her. That is the power of blessing God has focused in Mary. And Elizabeth proclaims “Blessed is she who believed that there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her by the Lord.”

And that is the blessing God promises to share with us today, too. Blessed are we, when we believe there will be a fulfillment of what is spoken to us by the Lord — and because we believe, we give ourselves — mind and heart and soul and body — we give ourselves to living out the fulfillment of God’s word of the reign of justice and peace in our daily, personal, public, communal, active lives.

And for us in our time and place, here and now, surely one of the most important ways we can give ourselves to the fulfillment of God's word of the reign of justice and peace is for each of us to take an active role in the work of reducing gun violence in our society. Over the last week, in the wake of the shootings at Sandy Hook Elementary School, people of all sorts and conditions in our country have joined in calling out for reducing gun violence. Ideas about how to do that have varied. Some have said we need better security, more armed guards in schools, better gun training and gun safety. Some have said we need more gun control, a ban on semi-automatic weapons, reducing gun violence by reducing the number of guns. Some have said that this is about more than just guns, that we also need better access to mental health care, to help identify the roots of violent behavior and steer it somewhere else before it acts out violently. Some have said we need a deep and serious and critical conversation about the role of violence in our society, how the news media report it, how TV shows and movies portray it, how computer games glorify it beyond all realistic proportion. Opinions differ -- but at the core of all the opinions is a central agreement that we need to do better, that we need to work together to be a society where little children at school, and shoppers at malls, and audiences at movie theaters, and worshipers in churches, and people going about their daily business, are not at risk of senseless violent firearm murder. As people of faith, we can be part of the solution, we each can search our conscience, we can pray with the Collect today that God will purify our conscience, so that each one of us can take the part we each can best take to work for the reduction of gun violence, to work for the reign of right relationships and peace. Blessed are we, if we believe enough in the fulfillment of what God has spoken that we will act.

Mary believed there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her by the Lord, that she would give birth to Jesus, and that Jesus would bring the kingdom of peace; and because she believed, Elizabeth was inspired to witness that Mary was blessed. May God grant us such believing. May God grant us such blessing. And may God grant us to do the work of Peace. Amen.

Rejoice. Even So, Rejoice.

by the Rev. Dr. Paul S. Nancarrow

This sermon is based on Philippians 4:4-7 and Luke 3:7-18. An audio version of the sermon may be found here. 

"Rejoice in the Lord always," Paul writes in the opening verse of our Epistle reading today; and then, because it is so important to him, he repeats it: "again I will say, Rejoice."

Rejoicing is the dominant theme on this Third Sunday of Advent. It is a thread running all through our scripture readings, from Zephaniah's call to Jerusalem to rejoice, though the canticle's command to Zion to "ring out your joy," through Paul's letter to the Philippians, even to Luke's account of John the Baptist preaching good apocalyptic news to the crowds. It is in the title of the day: this day is still known sometimes as "Gaudete Sunday," from the old Latin introit of the mass for this day, which began "Gaudete -- Rejoice!" When we still used purple for Advent, this Third Sunday, the Gaudete Sunday, was the day we lightened up the Advent Wreath with a single pink candle. Over and over again, the theme and burden of this Sunday is the call and command to rejoice.

And yet... And yet...

On this particular Third Sunday of Advent, on this December 16, 2012, rejoicing seems for many of us like a difficult and tenuous thing. "Rejoice!" may be the dominant word in our liturgy; but many of us today feel it to be a fleeting thing in our hearts.

Partly that's because of the atmosphere of forced jollity that overtakes so much of our public life in this season of the year. It's in the aggressively cheerful Christmas music that's blared on the sound systems in big box stores, while harried shoppers rush around looking for things that will make their holidays just perfect, and all the while wearing expressions on their faces that betray anxiety and annoyance and depression and everything but perfect joy. It's in vapidly happy and sentimental Christmas shows the TV networks seem compelled to broadcast -- and in the snarky and sarcastic shows others seem equally compelled to rebut them with. It's in family and social gatherings that all too often seem to be about outdoing each other, rather than really enjoying each other's company. With so much fake happiness being pushed on us in the holiday season, it can be kind of hard to find the true rejoicing in the message of Christ.

And partly the difficulty in rejoicing is because here at Trinity this Advent and Christmas we have some mixed feelings. Last week I announced that Shelby will be leaving Trinity to accept a call to Emmanuel; and in the week since then I've heard from several people who join me in having very mixed feelings about that news. I've shared with people, and people have shared with me, their happiness for Shelby, their sense of joy that she will take another step forward in her career and ministry, that this is a good thing for her and we're happy for her in it. Several people have told me that they agree with me that Shelby's going to Emmanuel may help usher in a new time of cooperation and shared ministry between Trinity and Emmanuel, and that that will be a very good thing indeed. But none of that can change the fact that Trinity will miss Shelby, that her ministry here has meant a great deal to a great many of us. Many people have told me that they want to support me through Shelby's leaving, because they know that she's been a very good colleague and I will miss her sharing in this ministry -- and I appreciate their support very much. It is one of those changes in church life that remind us that nothing ever stays the same; that just when you think you've got things comfortable, God calls you to be more than comfortable; that growing into something new always requires giving up something of what is now. There is truth in that; but there's a little bit of melancholy in that too. And even though we know this is an opportunity for Trinity to explore a new moment of growth, there is sadness in Shelby's leaving, too. And that makes it a little harder to rejoice.

And partly, of course, it's hard to rejoice because even while we proclaim our faith, we live in a world that continues to be wracked by violence and loss and grief. The mass shooting in Connecticut on Friday, in which 27 people were killed, 20 of them children, has left so many of us stunned and shocked and so overwhelmed by it that we're not sure what to feel. It is tempting to rush in with questions -- Why did this happen? Who could do such a thing? What can we do to prevent it ever happening again? -- but answers to such questions are never simple, and they're always elusive, and sometimes they are nothing more than a defense mechanism to keep us from having to face the naked horror of what we humans are capable of doing to each other. In such a moment there is nothing to do but to lament, to weep and wail and name our grief, to pray to God to make up in mercy all the many deficiencies we know too well we have, and to turn yet once more to compassion, to bearing each other up in love, as the only thing that really makes sense in this sinful and broken world. How, in the face of that, do we rejoice?

And yet, for all that, the words from Philippians still speak to us, insist on speaking to us, will not cease speaking to us even in the silence of our grief: "Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice. Let your gentleness be known to everyone. The Lord is near. Do not worry about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus."

The joy that Paul calls from us, the rejoicing that Paul commands of us, is something more -- something more than the forced jollity of the holidays, something more than the satisfaction of colleagues and ministers, something more even than security and safety and freedom from harm. The rejoicing that Pauls calls for does not depend on how happy we feel we are -- does not depend on us at all -- but depends on Christ. "Rejoice in the Lord," Paul says; "be in the peace of God," Paul says; "Let your hearts and minds be guarded in Christ Jesus," Paul says. The kind of rejoicing Paul points us to is not just being happy because everything around us is okay. The kind of rejoicing Paul points us to is a deep and abiding sense of rightness in God; it is a fundamental trust in the all-encompassing goodness of God; it is an ultimate consent, a rock-bottom Yes to life, even when life is difficult, because no matter what else happens, when everything is summed up and accomplished and played out to its end, God's love will bind all things up and God's love will make all things well.

That's what John the Baptist is talking about in our Gospel reading this morning, when he speaks of fire and judgment and winnowing and apocalypse, and calls it all good news. As John preaches it, the judgment is good news because the judgment will reveal the truth, when what is evil will be truly exposed as evil, and what is good will be truly lifted up as good, and the miasma of despair that so often prevents us from seeing God's good in this world because all we can focus on is the evil right in front of us -- that miasma will be cleared away and we will finally witness the creating grace of God in all the good it has truly done. That is the judgment John promises. And putting our whole trust in that judgment, orienting our lives and our actions toward that revealing of good, as John exhorted the crowds to do, frees us from fear and gives us a peace and joy in God so deep that no earthly sadness or disappointment or suffering can shake it or take it away.

"Rejoice in the Lord always," Paul writes. And we can receive that word here at Trinity today, because we know that rejoicing in the Lord is not just a matter of being happy or satisfied or secure, that rejoicing in the Lord is not primarily a feeling at all, but that rejoicing in the Lord is a choice, rejoicing in the Lord is a decision to trust that the goodness of God is at work all around us, even when -- especially when -- we cannot see it clearly by ourselves. "Rejoice in the Lord," Paul says, because "the Lord is near" -- and when the Lord comes no grief or destruction or sadness can fail to be redeemed in his all-renewing love.

That is the promise of Advent. That is our good news today. And that is why, even so, we rejoice. Amen.

Waiting for Jesus

Today Trinity Church received its episcopal visitation from the Rt. Rev. Neff Powell, Bishop of the Diocese of Southwestern Virginia. The bishop preached on the theme of Advent, and how during the season of Advent we wait for the coming of Jesus in three ways: the coming of Jesus as a child born in Bethlehem, the coming of Jesus in the present day in the faces of friends and strangers, and the coming of Jesus at the end of time.

You may listen to the bishop's sermon with this link. 

God's Promise

by Susan Peyton

An audio version of this sermon is available here.

Good morning.  Or perhaps, Happy New Year?  It just doesn't sound right, does it.  Today is the First Sunday in Advent – the beginning of the church year.  I don’t think the media, or Hallmark has judged Advent particularly noteworthy.  Certainly you can buy a set of 3 purple and 1 pink candles for your Advent wreath.  And Advent calendars are out there, generally with chocolate behind every window.  The hymns for Advent are wonderful, but no one really recognizes them as Advent hymns.  I started thinking through what precedes January 1^st, the New Year most people recognize.  And since most New Year’s resolutions may involve eating healthier, shopping less and drinking less, there tends to be more eating, drinking and shopping before New Year’s, to kind of get it all in by January 1^st.  So for comparison, here’s a few things that happened during November.  (disclosure, please do not take any of this data as a political statement).  The beginning of November, 119 million people voted for the top two presidential candidates.  During black Friday weekend, over 247 million people went shopping, and they collectively spent over  $ 1 billion.  And over $ 6 billion was spent on the presidential race.  In both cases, that is a lot of money being spent.  And, a lot of people standing in lines to get some deals. 

But waiting is not something everyone does easily.  Advent, a time of preparation, of waiting, not for Black Friday super deals, but for the deal of our life and soul.  But, the readings this morning, they certainly confuse things.  (And when I asked Paul if I could preach here one more Sunday, why didn’t I read the lessons first?!)  Who doesn’t like waiting for a baby to be born?  Everyone is expectant, trusting everything will go just fine.

Instead, we hear Jeremiah.  Talking about the fulfillment of God’s promise to Israel.  Not the birth of Christ, but rather, the second coming of Christ.  Rather confusing.  Okay, let’s try the psalm for today.  David seems to be hedging all bets with this one.  First, Oh God, I trust in you.  Um, but by the way, just don’t embarrass me, and especially not in front of my enemies.  Then back to the straight and narrow.  Lord, I wait for you all day long, and ask that you teach me and lead me the right way.  Um, just another little thing, could you possibly forget about the things I did when I was younger?  I really did some things I’m not proud of, so maybe you could simply love me so much, that you will be merciful.  And I know, that those who believe in the Lord will know His love, and his faithfulness to them.  This psalm, almost sounds like something any of us might think when we’re being honest with ourselves and God.  Some days we are strong in God’s love, and other days feeling a little foolish for some of the things we have done.  One historical note.  David starts this psalm by saying “To you, Oh Lord, I lift up my soul.”  During his time, that actually referred to lifting up your hands, showing that your hands are empty, no weapons, no gifts.  Symbolic of presenting yourself to God.  And in his psalm, he did bare his soul to God.  I’ve sinned, and I hope you love me and will show me your mercy. 

So on to Paul’s first letter to the Thessalonians.  The first letter Paul wrote.  This one really struck me as part of a letter I might receive.  Wouldn’t this be a letter to receive from your grandmother, or aunt?  Dear Susan, I give thanks to God daily for being blessed to have you in our family.  I can’t wait to see you again, and I feel strongly that together we can work out what may be troubling you.  And may God lead us on our journey to you.  And bless us and strengthen us.  A beautiful benediction in the middle of the reading, and another reference to “the coming of our Lord Jesus with all his saints.”  Again, not His birth.  Hmm. 

Okay, I’m holding out hope for Luke’s lesson. “There will be signs in the sun, the moon and the stars, and on the earth distress among nations confused by the roaring of the sea and the waves.”  For several years now there always seems to be a natural disaster somewhere around the globe. But that has been happening throughout the ages.  This latest was Sandy, but there was the one in Japan, and Katrina.  “Be on guard so that your hearts are not weighed down with …the worries of this life.”

So these short four weeks of Advent, will pass in the blink of an eye.  We really need to be waiting, not just to celebrate Christ’s birth, but watchful for his second coming.  And we need to slow down, and pray not to be dragged down by the commercialism of our world.  The season of Advent can’t become a shopping marathon.

I saw a video on youtube this week.  Any website that is bustedhalo.com sounds alright by me.  Advent in 2 minutes.  It has some pithy advice.  Don’t confuse Lent and Advent.  Lent is like spring cleaning, and advent is cozier, a time to welcome a special guest.  Remember to find joy in waiting.  And also, if you are sick of Christmas by December 25^th, you haven’t done Advent right.

So this journey we are on together.  Our first stop is one we can almost see.  Gathering in 4 weeks to celebrate Christ’s birth.  But each week, to light a candle, to remember who and why we are waiting.  To slow down, to prepare during Advent, to balance the temptations of this world.  To realize our days are shorter, and we are in darkness more each day.  And perhaps identify if the darkness is just outside, or is it within us.  To use our ordinary time, driving, or walking, or waiting on hold, to slow down, to pray, to reflect.  And maybe, to use the circumstances of Christ’s birth as a pattern of giving for Advent.  For Mary and Joseph, who had no shelter without the stable, think of the homeless.  For the animals in the stable, who provided warmth and company during his birth, remember our pets, and those animals who have been abandoned.  And for Christ, who came into this world a baby, remember the children without parents, food, homes or medical care.  Perhaps, our Advent traditions should be more about others, and less about ourselves.  No matter what is happening around us, we have God’s promise.  A promise beyond Christ’s birth, the promise of God’s kingdom.  Amen.

Seek the Truth

by the Rev. Shelby Ochs Owen

This sermon is based on John 18:33-37. No audio version of this sermon is available. We apologize for the inconvenience.

“For this I came into the world, to testify to the truth.”

Today is Christ the King Sunday, a day when we celebrate the reign of God through Jesus Christ. In an American society where we do not have royalty – no queens or kings, no princesses or dukes – it may indeed be a foreign concept to consider.  What does it mean that Christ is our king?  Our readings for today can help us explore this reign of Christ.  Looking at the Gospel of John as Jesus heads toward his crucifixion, Pilate seems not to have a clue who he is dealing with when he starts talking to Jesus.  In the preceding verses Pilate attempts to talk the Jewish leaders into trying Jesus themselves, “take him yourselves and judge him according to your law.”  But they refuse so Pilate is left to deal with Jesus.

So Pilate asks Jesus, “Are you King of the Jews?”  In the Roman world, someone  who  claimed to be king other than Caesar would have been seen as a threat, as a political insurrectionist.   While it appears on the surface Jesus is being tried by Pilate, the local Roman governor, at a deeper level Pilate is being tried by Jesus.  Pilate is seeking the truth at an intellectual level, trying to get to the bottom of the Jewish leaders’ protest over Jesus, but Jesus points him to a deeper truth – the truth in the revelation of Jesus Christ himself.  “My kingdom is not from this world…my kingdom is not from here.”   Pilate asks, “So you are a king?” and Jesus responds, “You say I am a king. For this I was born, and for this I came into the world – to testify to the truth.  Everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my voice.”

What voices do we listen to? Many of us can hear our mother’s or father’s voice even when they are not with us, when we encounter a situation where we know how they would respond.  When we answer a telephone call (without caller ID) our brains quickly process the voice of someone we know; for those of us who have our hearing, we all probably all by now recognize the voices of Barack Obama or Mel Gibson or Katie Couric.  We listen to myriad voices in a day’s time.  What does it mean to listen to the voice of Jesus, to belong to the truth?

When Pilate asks Jesus if he is the King of the Jews, Pilate is referring to an earthly, temporal king, even of a religious or political ruler.  Jesus points him to a different realm, a kingdom beyond the earthly but still available in the earthly world.  For this gospel writer Jesus represents the deepest truth, the revealed truth of God in Jesus Christ.  Here Jesus intends that those who listen to his voice are also those who follow him. 

As followers of Christ, as Christians, are we listening to the voice of truth?  There is a quote engraved by the door of the Virginia Seminary library attributed to its former dean William Sparrow, “Seek the truth, come whence it may, cost what it will.”  When we got up this morning and decided to come to church, was it because we were seeking the truth – whatever the cost, whatever the truth ended up looking like?  And when we find the truth or some piece of it, are we willing to drop our plans, willing to rearrange our interior and exterior lives to live into the truth?   The other day I had a meal with a Christian.  She talked about a new family member who was disappointing her; she told me how she was planning to get back at that new in-law.  She said, “I’m sorry but this is just the way I am.”  What she was in essence saying is that she was not willing to be molded by Christ, not willing to be transformed, not willing to let God into the situation.  Perhaps this person found that the cost of seeking the truth, the cost of forgiving and loving was too much, the cost of following Jesus was just too much.  It takes courage to listen and then to do what Christ would have us do, and yet to listen to and to follow Jesus is the way of and to everlasting life.

Every one of our readings for today points to this amazing eternal nature of Christ:

From the book of Daniel: In the fantastical description of God as the “Ancient One”, “…his dominion is an everlasting dominion that shall not pass away, and his kingship is one that shall never be destroyed.”

From Ps. 93: “Ever since the world began your throne has been established; you are everlasting.”

From Revelation:”I am the Alpha and the Omega, says the Lord, who was and is, and is to come, the Almighty.”

The kingdom of Christ is an eternal, life giving kingdom that was and is and is to come.  So much of our daily existence points to the temporal, the ever-changing world around us.  Politicians will come and go; stock markets will rise and fall; people will come into and leave our lives; our health will ebb and flow.  Times will change but the Kingdom of God is eternal and our greatest source of hope and truth.

To listen to the voice of truth requires discernment, a peeling back of layers of noise that crowds our minds and hearts.  The kingdom of God is at hand, is closer to us than our own breath if we can only allow ourselves to accept it.  Can we give ourselves over to being immersed in God’s love, immersed in the presence of Christ?  Are we ready to listen and willing to be God’s vessels of transformation in a world that so desperately needs Christ’s presence, so desperately needs God’s love? 

Seek the truth, come whence it may, cost what it will.  For when we encounter the eternal truth in Jesus, we find we are loved in unfathomable ways and eager to love the rest of God’s creation.

Amen.

Hear, Read, Mark, Learn, Inwardly Digest

by the Rev. Dr. Paul S. Nancarrow

This sermon is based on Mark 13:1-8 and the Collect for Proper 28. An audio version of this sermon is available here.

Our Gospel reading this morning is taken from the apocalyptic teaching of Jesus, Jesus’ “lifting the veil” on what will happen in the future. Apocalyptic teaching is notoriously difficult in the scriptures: it is dense, highly symbolic, given to hyperbole and dramatic overstatement, charged with ancient political significance, and full of images of suffering and destruction that we tend to find disturbingly out of place in Jesus’ usual teaching of love and compassion and the peace of God. Interpreting Jesus’ apocalyptic teaching is something preachers find distressingly difficult to do.

So I’m not going to preach on this Gospel today.

Instead, I’m going to preach on how we can approach this Gospel today. And to do that, I’m going to turn to the Collect, to our Prayer of the Day, and its reassuringly Episcopal way of connecting with scripture.

In today’s prayer, we give thanks to God for causing all Holy Scripture to be written for our learning. And then we ask God to help us appropriate that learning in a five-point plan: we ask God to empower us to hear, read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest the scriptures. And the reason we do this, the Collect says, is so that we can embrace and hold fast the hope of life. When we relate to scripture in this five-point way, the Collect says, then it becomes in us more than just a book, it becomes a living encounter with the living Word of God.

So how do we do that? Well, first, we have to hear scripture. That may come as something of a surprise, since we usually think of scripture as something written, and therefore something that must be read. But the Collect says that in the first place scripture must be heard. And that is because hearing is something you cannot do alone — it is always done in community, even when the community is only you and the person speaking to you. Saying we must hear scripture first is a way of saying we never encounter scripture all on our own, but we always come to it within a community of hearers, a community of interpreters, a community of responders. Hearing scripture is having a dynamic relationship with scripture that we always share with others.

But we must also read scripture. After we have heard it in community, we have to get closer to it, we have to dig deeper into it, we have to read it for ourselves. Reading is an amazing thing, because it doesn’t just dump information into our brains, but it engages our whole selves with what we read. Every time you read a word, any word, you bring with you all the memories and connections and meanings that word has just for you, in your experience. Every time you read a story, you don’t just watch the story outside yourself, but you re-enact the story in your own imagination, in your own act of reading. When we read scripture, we don’t just treat it as something external to ourselves, but we bring it to life in our own mind’s eye.

And then we have to mark what scripture says. The word “mark” here is an old-fashioned and poetic way of saying “pay attention.” When we pay attention to what scripture says, we let it touch us in a deep way; we let it bring up feelings and hopes and dreams and fears and promises; we let the scriptures make our train of thought jump its usual tracks and take us into new possibilities and unexpected places. Sometimes you can read something over and it doesn’t make any impression on you, you can barely remember afterwards what you’ve read. But when we pay attention, when we mark what scripture says, we let it make an impression on us, we let it leave its mark on us, and we begin to be changed by what the scripture tells us.

We begin to be changed — but then we have to make the change a part of who we are. And that’s what it means to learn scripture. I think “learning” here means more than just memorizing Bible verses — although memory exercises can be a great way to get scripture into your mind. But “learning” in this sense means also something deeper: it means incorporating the truths of scripture into the very way we think, it means becoming so familiar with scripture that we can spontaneously see connections between the stories of God’s faithful people and the way we are living here and now. When we learn scripture, we can see that we are not living our lives in a vacuum, but we are continuing the very same story we find in the pages of this book.

Finally, we must inwardly digest scripture, and that means really making the scripture our own. When our bodies digest food, we don’t just leave the food the way we find it, but our bodies incorporate it and assimilate it and transform the food into part of our own living tissues. When we inwardly digest scripture, we don’t just leave it the way we find it, but we interpret it and meditate on it and apply it, so that it is transformed into part of our own living spirits. I was in a guided meditation on a Gospel story once, where we were supposed to reenact the whole story in our imaginations — and then, at the climactic moment, just after Jesus heals the sick man in the story, the meditation leader told us to imagine Jesus turning to each of us, and asking us, “What do you want me to heal in you?” And the imagination was so vivid that each of us heard something different from Jesus, and each of us said something different to Jesus — and the story wasn’t just a story anymore, it was something we took into ourselves and made our own, it was a real, living, spiritual encounter with the Word of God, the same Word incarnate in Jesus, the same Word alive in the Trinity, the same Word addressing us and becoming in us our own. In prayer and meditation and application  we inwardly digest the scriptures and make them a part of the way we live.

And when we do all those things, when we hear, read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest, then I think scripture becomes for us something more than just a book. It becomes something more than a set of moral rules and regulations for how to control lives. It becomes more than a historical fact-book that we must either criticize or defend for how historical or factual it really is. It becomes more than a collection of symbolic stories about some ancient peoples' encounters with God. When we hear, read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest it, then the Bible isn’t just literal, and it isn’t just metaphorical, and it isn’t just a text — but it can be the living context where we can encounter the living Word.

When we connect with scripture in this way, we can look at something like our Gospel reading today, this difficult apocalyptic text, and see in it not just disturbing and distressing images of destruction, but see also the word of hope, the promise of the birth of something new, the good news that we do not need to be alarmed but can face the pains of this world with courage and trust in in God. When we connect with scripture in this way, we can hear something like our Hebrews reading today, where it urges us to “provoke one another to love and good deeds” and to “encourage one another, and all the more as you see the Day approaching” — we can hear that and realize that is not just talking to some vague people long ago, but is all about how we live out our share of Christ’s mission in our world today, here and now, with love and good deeds and encouragement that are very particular and very personal to us. When we connect with scripture in this way, we can know that our ancient book is a gift we have to share with the world — a world that is increasingly biblically illiterate, by the way — and that we share it best not by hitting people over the head with it, but by inviting people in to hear, read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest with us. We never know what new things we might learn from those who hear, read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest differently from the way we do. And that too is part of our mission in Christ. 

Today we give thanks to God for causing all Holy Scripture to be written for our learning, and we pray that God will help us make the scriptures our own, so that we may embrace and hold fast the hope of life. May it be so for us. Amen.

It's who we are

by The Rev. Shelby Ochs Owen

This sermon is based on Mark 12:38-44. An audio version of this sermon is available here. 

“Beware of the scribes, who like to walk around in long robes and to be greeted with respect in the marketplaces and to have the best seats in the synagogues...”  Uh, Paul,  I think you and I are busted!  This is one of those Sundays, I might want to be wearing my street clothes sitting on the back pew!  I have to admit it is kind of nice to always know that, as your priest, I will always be guaranteed a seat, and a very good seat, in church.

In today’s reading from Mark we have Jesus teaching in the temple, denouncing the scribes.  Now before we think he is condemning all of the scribes we can see just in a few verses before this one that this isn’t the case.  In that exchange with a scribe, Jesus actually tells him “You are not far from the kingdom of God” when the scribe indicates his understanding the ultimate importance of the commandments of loving God and loving one’s neighbor.  Here, though, Jesus denounces the scribes whose priorities are out of whack, the ones who allow power and prestige to rule their actions, the ones whose religious pretensions direct the oppression of the less fortunate, particularly poor widows.  Throughout the Scriptures God’s people are exhorted to take care of widows and orphans, the alien and the poor; Jesus knows this and so do the scribes. So Jesus calls them out on their hypocrisy.   Those who oppress widows while striving to appear virtuous, pretending to be religious while being driven by greed and egotism will be condemned, Jesus says.  

And then, Jesus sits down opposite the treasury to watch the crowd. Many rich people put in large sums of money and then a poor widow places two small copper coins, worth a penny, essentially 1/64th of a laborer’s wages for a day.  Something almost too small to notice, something that was close to nothing and yet it was everything. It was all she had.  Jesus then says, “Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put in more than all those contributing to the treasury.” “All she had to live on.”  But before we get overly sentimental and put her on the proverbial pedestal, let’s think about how we can walk along side the widow.  If we were to put her on a pedestal, we will find ourselves distancing ourselves from her as we realize we might not ever be able to give the way she gives or even to imagine ourselves doing so.  And then we find as we distinguish ourselves from her we are less able, less willing to change. 

Let’s look at the coins that the widow puts into the treasury as representing all that we are and all we can hope to become in God’s kingdom.  No doubt the widow knew of the oppression of the religious authorities and yet she gave all anyway.  In spite of an oppressive system she trusted in God, completely.  Might her actions be a foreshadowing of Jesus himself just a little later in the story giving himself completely for a world that had betrayed God’s trust?  For this widow, her act of giving was not simply about doing, it was about being-being one of faith, being one of trust.  Her giving was simply just who she was.

Early one morning this past week, I received an email from Patricia, a woman I know well, who lives in a European city.  She told me that she was shaken following an encounter right after work the night before.  Patricia and a colleague were walking down the street when they encountered a woman being mugged.  They helped stop the mugging.  The injured woman’s face had been badly beaten.   As I took in this shocking news, I remembered years ago another story of Patricia witnessing an attack in a subway station here in the States.  Crowds had gathered around the scene while a man attacked a woman.  No one was doing anything.  The crowd seemed paralyzed.  So Patricia jumped on the man’s back and starting hitting him so he would leave his victim alone and then she ran to find the police.  As I thought about the scene of this week’s recent mugging, I realized I wasn’t really surprised at Patricia’s actions.   Her coming to the aid of another in need or trouble was not a new thing at all.  It was just who she was, it was just who she was.

Who are we?  Who are we as people of God?  Who are we as members of the church, as members of the body of Christ?  For some of us, the church might at times feel like a club, where we connect and make friends with like-minded souls, not that there’s anything too wrong with that!; for some it might feel like a warm, welcoming home where we feel safe and cared for -not that there’s anything wrong with that either, and I certainly do hope church is warm and welcoming and a place to make great friends.  But church is more than a safe, warm place.  The church does not exist simply for its own well being; the church exists so that we can be instruments of God’s love and justice in the world, to relieve poverty, oppression and suffering, not to add to it the way the scribes were doing!

Just as Jesus was condemning the scribes who were part of an oppressive religious system that failed to care for the widows, God calls each of us to move out of our own areas of hypocrisy, areas of weakness where our profession of faith and our actions don’t quite jive; God calls us to integrate what we say we believe with how we treat others, particularly the poor.  You who have been baptized have made a promise to “persevere in resisting evil… to seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving your neighbor as yourself; to strive for justice and peace among all people and respect the dignity of every human being.” With God’s help, of course.

So go into the world trusting God, go to your corporate board rooms, go into your classrooms, go into the court room, go into your governing bodies, go to your individual families, and look around you.  Where might you be supporting oppression of individuals or groups of people, knowingly or unknowingly?  How are you investing your money?  Your time?  Any of you who know your history know that the church has had its infamous moments where she has supported systems of violence and oppression – psychologically, spiritually, economically and even at times, physically, in the name of Jesus Christ.  How can we tear down oppressive systems?  How can we change as we carry the truth of the Gospel to our individual corners of the world, carrying peace and truth and justice for all?  We have more power than we realize – even if it looks like just two cents to us.  If we give our whole selves over to God, the seemingly nothing can turn into something, something big in God’s eyes.

We are called to move from where we are into the dream God has for us.  To be bearers of God’s truth, in every situation, morning, noon and night.  At home, at work and in church, in whatever situation life finds us.

To be bearers of truth and instruments of justice, all rooted in God’s love. It’s who we are, it’s who we are.

Making All Things New

by the Rev. Dr. Paul S. Nancarrow

This sermon is based on Revelation 21:1-6a, Wisdom of Solomon 3:1-9, and John 11:32-44.  

“See, I am making all things new.”

These words, heard by John the Seer spoken from the throne of God at the very climax of the Book of Revelation — these words give us, I believe, a key to open the meaning of all our readings and all our celebration on this All Saints Sunday. "See, I am making all things new" is a promise of renewal, God's promise to take up all that has been worn down by time or disfigured by decay or broken by human sin, and to transform it, to re-create it, to bring it to the fulfillment of all God really wants it to be. "See, I am making all things new" is God's promise of the New Creation that will heal the hurts of this world and bring all things to their perfection in him through whom all things were made, our Lord Jesus Christ. 

We see that promise of renewal at work in all our scripture readings today. It's there in the Wisdom of Solomon, when we are assured that those who are gone from us, those whom we thought were destroyed by death, are in fact in the hand of God, with their hope full of immortality, their being ready to shine forth and run like sparks through the stubble. We see that promise of renewal in the Gospel of John, when Jesus calls Lazarus to come forth from the tomb, when Jesus tells the others to unbind Lazarus and let him go, when Jesus restores Lazarus's body and renews Lazarus's life. And of course we see that promise of renewal in the reading from Revelation, when it is not just a single human life that is restored, not just the souls of the righteous that are renewed, but the whole of Creation, the earth and the sky, the cities and the peoples that are made new, that are re-created, that are fulfilled to be the dwelling-place of God and the perfect manifestation of God's eternal goodness and God's unfailing love. The holy ones of God, the saints of God, the righteous and living and joyful people of God, are those who have received God's promise of renewal, and who are themselves made new in living godly lives. 

And today, on this All Saints' Sunday, it is our particular privilege and humility and joy to celebrate that we also are saints, that our lives too are caught up into the vast work of the New Creation, that we are called by Christ to be instruments and agents and participants in Christ's work of making all things new. That's what it means to be a saint; that's what it means to say we are all saints: that we are all active partners in God's great mission to make all things new. 

And here at Trinity we join in Christ's work of renewal in so many ways. 

Today, for All Saints Sunday, we are marking the end of our parish stewardship pledge drive. Cottage meetings have met; budget discussions have been discussed; pledge cards have been filled out -- at least many of them have -- and today we bring those pledge cards we have to the altar. We offer them up to God, along with our bread and our wine, as material symbols of our commitment. It may seem like a stretch to say it, but I really do believe that committing to the financial support of the church is part of the work of sainthood. Our financial support is what allows Trinity to be here, to offer this beautiful building as a spiritual oasis of refreshment and peace, to serve our neighbors' needs for food and medicine and counsel and education and prayer in places both near and far, to be a center of worship and action, prayer and service, for ourselves and for so many others. Making our pledges and paying them really is one of the ways we become partners with Christ in making all things new. 

Today on All Saints Sunday we are celebrating a baptism. In a few moments Megan Elizabeth Lively will stand here at the font and will make her Baptismal Covenant. And we will all join with her and renew our own Baptismal Covenants, affirming once more our fundamental promises to continue in the apostles' teaching and fellowship, to persevere in resisting evil, to proclaim good news by word and example, to seek and serve Christ in all persons, and to strive for justice and peace among all people. We will recognize once again that we can only do these things "with God's help"; and we will pray for Megan, and for ourselves, that "all who are baptized into the death of Jesus Christ may live in the power of his resurrection." The sacrament of baptism is a gift of renewal of life, a movement of God's Spirit in us to re-create us to be more the blessed people God wants us to be. Baptism is what makes us all saints, members of the Body of Christ, partners with Christ in making all things new. 

Today on All Saints Sunday we are looking back over the path Superstorm Sandy carved in the Caribbean and up the East Coast, and we are mindful of how we can help in the rebuilding and restoration. Here in the Valley we didn't get hit anywhere near as badly as we had feared. My daughter texted me the other day to see if we were alright, and I texted back "Our mountains protected us." We've been lucky; but we've also seen the video of the damage on the Jersey shore, we've read about flooding in the subways of New York, we've received word from our partners in Haiti about the damage and death the hurricane left in its wake. With your bulletins today you received a flier from Episcopal Relief and Development about ways we can donate, and ways we can pray, for the aid of those affected by the storm. Even something so simple as donating to this cause is an act of renewal, a work of re-creation over against damage and loss. Reaching out to others in such a time of need is also a way to be partners with Christ in making all things new. 

Today on All Saints Sunday we commission ministers for Trinity Cares, a new program for connecting people in our parish one to another, so that those who are going through a hard time, or are ill, or are in some need can receive a card, or a phone call, or a meal, or a prayer, or a visit, not just from the clergy, but also from another sister or brother in Christ, someone who will help to show Christ's love in their need. Being a loving presence to help someone through a pastoral situation is another way we are partners with Christ in making all things new. 

And today on All Saints Sunday we share communion. We offer ourselves, our souls and bodies, to become living vessels for the Body and Blood of Jesus, the living presence of Jesus, to work in and with and through our daily works, to call us forth into the light of life, to unbind us and let us go out into the world and reveal Christ's gift of life in everything we do. Living for Christ in all the ordinary moments of all our ordinary days is precisely how we are saints, it is the main place we can be partners with Christ in making all things new. 

John the Seer heard the divine voice saying "See, I am making all things new." May we hear that voice speaking in our hearts -- and may we be saints, partners with Christ in the New Creation, this day and all our days. Amen.

Wishing to be great?

by The Rev. Shelby Ochs Owen

This sermon is based on Mark 10:35-45.

Ah, the Zebedee brothers!  So close to Jesus.  And yet so far away.  These two, James and John, the sons of Zebedee, were among those first called to be Jesus’ disciples.  Looking back to chapter one, we remember these two brothers were quick to leave their father standing in their fishing boat so they could follow Jesus.  They have now been with Jesus quite a while.  And now in the passage we read today we see just how far away from him they are in understanding who he is and how they might follow him, what true discipleship entails.  

By this point the disciples have been told three different times that Jesus will be handed over to the chief priests and scribes, they will condemn him to death, they will kill him and after three days he will rise again. And the first thing out of the mouths of the Zebedee boys after Jesus has repeated this scenario of his suffering and death is, “Jesus, we want you to do whatever we ask you to do.”  “Grant us to sit, one at your right hand and one on your left, in your glory,”  which is to have asked for a place of extreme honor.  Jesus simply says, “You don’t know what you’re asking.  Are you able to drink the cup that I drink or be baptized with the baptism that I am baptized with?”  And then the other disciples are angry with the Zebedee brothers, perhaps because they are embarrassed but more likely they don’t want James and John to get ahead of them in rank or position, they don’t want them to hold more power or have more respect than they.

What is wrong with this picture? Where and how have the disciples failed to understand Jesus’ message? When did their heads and hearts get so misaligned? They certainly seem to have started out with the best intentions, the best of motivations-following Jesus!  Something seemed to be clogging their spiritual arteries.

“Donald Meichenbaum, one of the American Psychologist’s ten most influential psychotherapists, tells of the time that his car was struck by lightning while he was driving.  Once he was safe at home, Meichenbaum began to share his ordeal with his teenage son, expecting at least some degree of sympathy. Instead his son interrupted, ‘Dad, let’s go buy a lottery ticket.  They say the chances of being hit by lightning are like the chances of winning the lottery.’” Do we see a connection between the self-absorption of this young teenager and the self-absorption of James and John? A connection between this teenager’s inability to get past his own individual interests and these disciples whose vision is so limited?   And what about ourselves?  Do we possibly recognize a tiny seed or maybe even an overgrown root system of self-absorption in our own lives at times?

It is difficult to have pure motives all the time.  In fact, it is impossible to have pure motives all the time.  It is part of the human condition to have competing motives in our actions.  We may start out in a particular direction with a good enough, perhaps even Godly, motive, like the Zebedee brothers, and if we are honest and reflective with ourselves, we may see that quickly other motives begin to creep in, motives of greed or self aggrandizement or self security, motives of power or position, status, vanity or ambition.  So how do we move away from self-absorption, move away from acting on selfish motives and move in the direction of the divine?  Jesus’ answer was a reversal from what the disciples thought was the way.  Maybe Jesus’ answer is a reversal from what we, at times, think is the way as well.  Maybe Jesus had more in mind for these disciples of his.  Maybe Jesus has more in mind for us, as well.

Jesus was offering an alternative community, the kingdom of God, where a ruler is not a tyrant but a servant leader, where the goal is to serve and not to be served, where the first must be last.  This alternative community, the kingdom of God would be the vehicle for transformation and the way to wholeness. “Whoever wishes to be great among you must be your servant and whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all.  For the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve and to give his life a ransom for many.”  It is difficult to say exactly when the truth of the message dawned on the disciples.  Maybe at this point in their journey.  Maybe not. They do seem to have struggled with Jesus’ message right up until the end.  But even though they strayed from Jesus when he needed them most, Jesus did not forsake them; Jesus stayed with them even in their weakness. Indeed he gave his life, he gave everything he had for a ransom for all - for the disciples, for the weak, for the strong, for the entire world.  Jesus’ sacrifice of his life was the ultimate paradigm for servant leadership and the ultimate act of love.  And in the end these same disciples gave of themselves; they were able to carry their own crosses and to love through serving others.  Ultimately they were transformed into their higher selves and were part of the unfolding kingdom.

If any of you saw the second presidential debate this week, you may have noticed an incredible verbal struggle at times, for both of the candidates and the moderator, to come out on top.  At several points all three were talking over one another in their efforts to gain control of the debate.  Comedy or tragedy, you can decide.  It would be easy to picture them literally stepping on top of each other in a big heap to see who would come out on top.  It was a fine reminder for us to search for a deeper truth, a reminder to pin our hopes of salvation on something that can bear the weight of our trust and hope, which is God alone.  None of us really know the motivations of our political leaders but as we move closer to the election, I wonder if we can consider the true test of leadership, that of a servant’s heart.  Can we take an honest look at our own motives for why we do the things we do and can we readjust our actions to reflect our call to serve others?

The Zebedee brothers wanted to be great, and they eventually found greatness in their ability to serve others.  The same is true for us.  When we serve others in love we release that self-absorption and a better self emerges. When we serve others in love, the kingdom of God unfolds.  We all have the capacity to serve, every single one of us, whether it is in sharing our material resources, doing physical works, praying or even simply sharing a kind word.  When we serve others we move toward wholeness because when we serve others we simply give what God has given us and we become more of who God intends us to be. So serve with love.   Let God do great things through you!   Amen.

MONEY!

by The Rev. Dr. John D. Lane

This sermon is based on Mark 10:17-22. An audio version of this sermon is available here.

As he was setting out on a journey, a man ran up and knelt before him, and asked him, “Good Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?” Jesus said to him, “Why do you call me good? No one is good but God alone. You know the commandments: ‘You shall not murder; You shall not commit adultery; You shall not steal; You shall not bear false witness; You shall not defraud; Honor your father and mother.’” He said to him, “Teacher, I have kept all these since my youth.” Jesus, looking at him, loved him and said, “You lack one thing; go, sell what you own, and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me.” When he heard this, he was shocked and went away grieving, for he had many possessions.

Yes, folks, today’s gospel is about money. Coincidentally, this is the time of year when people complain, “I go to church and all they talk about is money.” Jesus talked about money and possessions in something like 38% of his teaching. So preachers, if they are to be true to the gospel, talk a lot about money. Blame Jesus. He can take it.

But aren’t we all reluctant to talk about money? Even to raise the subject publicly seems tacky. A psychoanalyst recalls a patient he had been seeing 1-2 times per week for 3 years. They had talked about virtually everything, laying bare all the joys and problems of the man’s life. The patient opened up about his difficult upbringing, his marriage, his children, his shortcomings as a father and husband, what we would call his sins, the dishonesty that often pervaded his life, and so on. He described in vivid detail aspects of his life that could certainly be called kinky if not outright degrading. The analyst thought all was going well until he asked the man about his money and how he spent it. “That’s none of your business! I didn’t come here to talk about that!”

When we talk about money, people often feel either guilt or shame–guilt that we are well off and don’t do enough good with what we’ve got or shame that we aren’t able to keep up with the Joneses. As Erma Bombeck wrote, “Guilt is the gift that keeps on giving.” A lot of us think that the world is too permissive, that people no longer blush or feel guilty about much of anything. Money may be the one exception. Like the man seeing the psychoanalyst, we don’t want to talk about how we use our money, particularly our pattern of giving, because we feel guilty about it. This morning in this particular instance, as something that goes against all my bleeding heart liberal tendencies, I’d like to endorse guilt. It can motivate us to do better.

He said to [Jesus], “Teacher, I have kept all these since my youth.” Jesus, looking at him, loved him and said, “You lack one thing; go, sell what you own, and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me.” When he heard this, he was shocked and went away grieving, for he had many possessions.

Jesus finds the man’s biggest vulnerability, the thing that keeps him from becoming a true follower. His wealth gets in the way of his faith, and probably some other things as well. Rather than being a comfort to him, his money is a millstone around his neck. Like the analysis patient, the man had not come to Jesus to talk about money, but it is his vulnerable spot.

A couple of weeks ago, stock broker Roller Shipplett spoke at Rotary. Like Warren Buffett, Roller is wary of diversification as an investment strategy, and counsels his clients to limit their holdings to those companies they can understand and follow carefully. Find something you like and concentrate on it.

About 20 years ago, I took our son Edward to talk with a college admissions director, a year before he would be applying anywhere. She met with him then called me in. She said, “Edward is a fine student, high test scores, high grades, good recommendations from teachers and others. He is involved in many different extra-curricular activities, sports, church choir, pop quiz team, a nicely balanced record. But what I’m looking for is passion. I asked him, ‘Edward, what is your passion, what really grabs you and won’t let go?’ and he couldn’t really answer. My advice: before you begin to apply, find your passion, follow your bliss.”

What the rich man lacked was passion. Jesus was interesting, intriguing, inspiring, but money was the stumbling block keeping him from becoming a devoted disciple.

Around the time Edward was talking to the admissions director, I ran into a clergy friend whose two sons had recently completed college. How did you survive the financial pressure? I asked. “Well, it’s kind of like Alice in Wonderland. It’s completely impossible, but somehow you come out the other side and everything’s okay.” The same is true of increasing your giving.

I’m a strong believer in commitment, commitment to things that are important: God, relationships, civility, generosity. We have received many gifts, and we need to give back.

Over the next few weeks, you will be invited to cottage meetings to discuss your faith and God’s mission in this place. You will also be asked to fill out a pledge card. I implore you to attend the meetings and to fill out a card. And I ask that you give enough that it feels good to be doing it. If you don’t, you may feel guilty. And we then lie to ourselves that we don’t give as much as we can because we don’t like something at the church. They never sing hymns I know. People aren’t friendly. The bathroom is dirty. The clergy don’t seem to know me. I don’t like the preaching–particularly true this Sunday, I suspect.

If you are generous, you won’t have to go through all this bugga-bugga. I exhort you to be generous, to be more generous than you had planned, and for sure to be more generous than last year. A few of us have reasons why that isn’t possible, but I’m speaking to the rest.

I had a friend named Purnell Eggleston. He was an attorney in Roanoke and seemed to hold the office of Stewardship Chair for Life at St. John’s Church. Every October, Purnell would get up in front of the congregation and give an impassioned speech about why everyone at St. John’s should tithe–or start working toward tithing. Purnell was a wonderful man, and it was clear that he was deeply committed to what he was saying. It was his passion. On one such Sunday after church, a friend came up to him and said, “Purnell, you were really great this year! You almost convinced me.”

I’m no Purnell, but I hope I’ve convinced some of you to give generously. The pleasure of generosity is one of life’s hidden secrets. Try it. You’ll like it. And you’ll never go back.

Jesus, looking at him, loved him and said, “You lack one thing; go, sell what you own, and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me.”