Who We Are

by the Rev. Dr. Paul S. Nancarrow

This sermon is based on Luke 4:1-13. Click here to listen to an audio version of this sermon.

Who are you? And who, in God's love, are you willing to be?

That is the question set before us in our scripture readings today, and most especially in Luke's Gospel account of the temptation of Jesus by the Devil in the wilderness. In this story, temptation is all about asking the question whether we will be the people God wants us to be, or whether we will settle for something less: a lesser love, a littler life, a smaller self.

In the story, the Devil makes his opening move against Jesus by saying “If you are the Son of God…” Now remember: this all happens right after Jesus’ baptism. When Jesus was baptized he experienced the heavens opened up, and the Holy Spirit coming down like a dove, and the Voice of God saying, “You are my Son, my Beloved, and with you I am well pleased.” Jesus is filled with the Holy Spirit, filled with the awareness and the knowledge and the energy of being God’s beloved Son. And he goes into the wilderness to fast and to pray and to get focused on being ready to do the things he’s got to do in order to live out the mission of being the Christ, being the Holy One, being the Son of God. And that’s when the Devil comes to him and says, “If you are the Son of God… If. You might not be, you know. That whole Baptism thing might have been a hallucination. You might be deluded about yourself: maybe God isn’t calling you to be the Savior. You might be deluded about God: maybe God won’t be there for you when you need him. So, if you really are God’s Son, prove it. Show me. Demonstrate that God is with you, and then I and all the world will know.”

Each of the Devil’s temptations to Jesus is designed to get Jesus to doubt who he is, to lose sight of who God is calling him to be, and therefore to settle for something less than the fullness of life God wants to give to the Beloved Son.

“You’re hungry,” the Devil says. “Change these stones to bread for yourself.” The temptation for Jesus is to feed his stomach, but starve his spirit, to settle for something less than the full sustenance that comes from God.

“You’re destined to be King of kings and Lord of Lords,” the Devil says. “I can make that happen for you, quicker and easier than the way God has in mind.” The temptation for Jesus is to feed his ego, to grab for false glory in in a quick-fix, self-gratifying way; the temptation is to settle for something less that the true glory of Ascension that God wants to give him.

“Jump from the Temple,” the Devil says. “Surely God will protect you and hold you up — Scripture says so! You trust Scripture, don’t you?” The temptation for Jesus is to fear that his trust in God is misplaced, and so to settle for a cheap test of God’s love, rather than the deeper trust that Passion and Crucifixion and Resurrection will demand.

In each case, the Devil tempts Jesus to doubt who he is, to forget who God is calling him to be, to settle for a cheap substitute instead of the real love God wants to fulfill in the Beloved Son. And in each case Jesus refuses to take the bait. Jesus resists the temptation, not by exerting his will power, or gritting his teeth and bearing it — Jesus resists each temptation by remembering who he is, by remembering who God is calling him to be, by staying focused on living in God’s word, and worshiping God alone, and trusting that his relationship with God goes deeper than any cheap stunt could show. Jesus is God’s beloved Son, and nothing the Devil can do can make him forget that.

And that’s how temptation works for us, too. Temptation tries to make us doubt who we are, it tries to make us lose sight of who God is calling us to be, it tries to make us settle for something less than the fullness God wants to give to us: a lesser love, a littler life, a smaller self. And that doesn’t just happen out in the desert, out in the wilderness; it doesn’t just happen in the big, extreme moments of life. It’s happening all the time. It’s temptation when you want to settle for the momentary satisfaction of self-righteous anger against someone, rather than the harder, truer satisfaction of forgiveness and reconciliation. It’s temptation when you know you could speak out against injustice — when someone tells a racist joke, or makes a sexual slur, or uses language that’s hurtful and hateful — you know you could speak out, but you’re willing to settle for keeping silent and not making a scene. It’s temptation when you know you could use your unique gifts and skills and talents to do something beautiful and generous and Christlike — and yet you’re willing to settle for hiding your light under a basket and not showing forth the beauty that God has put in you. Day in and day out, in so many ways, we are tempted to settle for less, to go for the quick fix, the momentary gratification, the smaller self, and tempted to turn away from the real life God wants to give us.

And for us too, as for Jesus in the story, the way to resist temptation is not just to be strong and exert our will power. The way to resist temptation is to remember: to remember who we are, and to remember who God is calling us to be, and to remember the abundance of life that God has promised to us. Jesus defeats the Devil’s temptations by remembering that he really is the Son of God — and we defeat temptation by remembering that we are God’s children, too: remembering that we are sons and daughters of God, sisters and brothers of Jesus, and that God calls us and empowers us to be like Jesus, to share with Jesus in a life that is faithful, and truthful, and generous, and compassionate; a life that is nourished by God’s Word, and worships God alone, and trusts in God’s love that will never let us go — and doesn’t need any cheap stunts to prove it. We defeat temptation by letting God love us into being the people of love God wants us to be.

That’s what Jesus does in the wilderness. And that’s what we are invited to do in this Lenten season, as well. Lent can be for us a time to remember, a time to get focused, a time to know and to feel that we really are God’s beloved children, and a time to act like the children of God that we are: fervent in prayer and in works of mercy, using Lenten disciplines to clear the space in our hearts where God's love can come in, growing in God a greater love, a larger life, a truer self. That is what it means to keep a holy Lent; and that’s the kind of Lent that we can keep together. Amen.

Shining with Resplendent Light

by the Rev. Dr. Paul S. Nancarrow

This sermon is based on 2 Corinthians 3:12-4:2, Exodus 34:29-35, and Luke 9:28-36, [37-43a]. Click here to listen to an audio version of this sermon.

Imagine coming to church some Sunday morning and finding everyone’s face shining. Imagine finding everyone’s eyes bright and alert, everyone’s expression open and engaging, everyone’s energy level way up here, everyone’s enthusiasm evident. Imagine walking into a church where you are greeted warmly and genuinely, not just by people you know but by people you don’t know. Imagine coming to a church where everyone participates in the service, where every reader and every choir member and every chalice bearer and every person sitting in the pew really believes that they have an important part to play in making the worship whole, and they play their parts with energy and liveliness. Imagine coming to a church which is so filled with enthusiasm that it lifts your spirits up and fills you with an energy you just didn’t have when you first walked in the door. Imagine coming to church and finding everyone’s face shining.

Can you picture that? Then listen to this: St Paul writes to the Christian congregation in Corinth in our epistle reading today: “All of us, with unveiled faces, seeing the glory of the Lord as though reflected in a mirror, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another; for this comes from the Lord, the Spirit. Therefore, since it is by God’s mercy that we are engaged in this ministry, we do not lose heart.”

Paul’s message here is couched in an extended metaphor which is a little complex, maybe even a bit arcane — but I think Paul is basically describing the same quality of church we’ve been imagining together. Paul’s imagery of “unveiled faces” in "glory" is a deliberate echo of two other stories in scripture — and fortunately for us we have those two stories as our First Testament and Gospel readings today. So we can unpack Paul’s symbolism, we can learn more about what he’s trying to say about the church, if we touch base with those other two readings.

The first reading, from Exodus, tells how Moses came down from the mountain after talking with God, and the skin of his face was shining. Moses had been in God’s presence, so he was radiant — literally radiating — with divine energy. Aaron and the other Israelites were a little freaked out by this, so they asked Moses to cover up his face, to wear a veil, so the divine energy in him would not overwhelm them. Being that close to God, they felt, was a little too much for ordinary humans to handle. But Moses would take the veil off every time he went to talk to God, every time he went up the mountain or every time he went in to the tent of meeting, Moses would take the veil off and be fully present to God, so that his face, his whole being, would be filled and radiant with divine energy. The light in Moses’ face was the sign of God with him.

Likewise, in the Gospel story, Jesus goes up on the mountain with Peter and James and John, and while Jesus is praying, while Jesus is talking with God, his appearance is changed, he is transfigured, his face, even his clothing, begin to shine with heavenly light, he reveals to his disciples the divine energy that is in and under and through all his human being. Peter and James and John are a little freaked out by this — but they don’t turn away. They witness Jesus’ manifestation of glory, and Peter says it is good for them to be there, even if he’s not entirely sure what’s going on. In his transfiguration Jesus reveals divine energy. The light in Jesus’ face is the sign of God with him.

Now Paul takes those stories about Moses and about Jesus, and Paul uses them to say something about the church. Paul says that when we Christians gather together, we can shine with the same divine energy that was reflected in Moses, we can shine with the same divine energy that was revealed in Jesus. And that energy is something we don’t have to be afraid of. Unlike Moses, who put a veil over his face, unlike Peter and James and John, who were terrified as they entered the brightness, we don’t have to cover up that light, we don’t have to try to restrain that energy. We, Paul says, can face each other with “unveiled faces,” we can let the light of Christ be reflected in us and shine forth for each other and all the world to see. We can let our energy level rise up to here, because we know that energy, that enthusiasm, is the sign of God with us.

That’s what Paul says about the church. But as moved as I am by what Paul says about the church, I have to pause here for a moment over what Paul says about the synagogue. Paul says that when the people of Israel, when Jews, read the Books of Moses today, a veil lies over their minds and their hearts are hardened. Paul implies that Jews don’t understand their own scriptures unless they see in them the promise of Christ. In Paul’s day and age, when there was a lot of tension between church and synagogue, when Christians had to work hard to explain why they were different from Jews, that may have made some sense. But we today recognize that Christians and Jews have much in common, and we want to work together for biblical ideals of justice and peace in the world. I, for one, would hardly want to go to our friends at Temple House of Israel and tell them they don’t understand their scriptures because they don’t read them the same way we do. If Paul’s words are taken out of context here, they could become an excuse for anti-Judaism, and I don’t think any of us want to interpret them that way. So we need to do our best to move that over to one side, and see what positive thing Paul is saying about Moses and the church.

And I think the positive thing is this: that the divine energy which was reflected in Moses is the same as the divine energy which shone forth from Jesus — and it is that same divine energy that can be revealed now in us. When we come together as church, we can be enthusiastic, because there is divine energy inspiring and encouraging and enthusing us. Paul’s imagery of us meeting with unveiled faces, and our imagination of a church were everyone’s face is shining, where everyone is filled with energy and joy — those images are one and the same, because it is the same light of Christ that radiates from us all.

So how do we catch that energy? How do we generate that enthusiasm? Our scripture readings this morning give us an answer: that energy comes from prayer. Prayer. You know, we usually think of prayer as something very quiet, very private, very inward — we often think of prayer as the opposite of energy. But the scriptures this morning make it very clear: Moses comes alight when he goes in to speak with God — that’s prayer. Jesus comes alight when he goes up on the mountain to pray. We come alight when the Lord, the Spirit, comes into us and transforms us from one degree of glory to the next — and that is what happens in deep and genuine prayer. It is prayer that releases divine energy into our lives, so that we can pour that energy into welcoming hospitality, into compassionate pastoral care, into social transformation of our community, into living joyful lives, into practicing the ways of faith that make us the people of God for the world, into gathering on Sunday morning for the kind of worship that can make everyone’s face shine. All of those things we do to be a vibrant, vital, welcoming, enthusiastic, growing church — all of those things begin with prayer, begin with opening up our spirits so that the Lord, the Spirit, can remove the veil from us and set us free.

So how do you pray? What do you do to open your spirit so the Holy Spirit can energize you? Some of us read the Bible daily, and ponder each day what that scripture passage says directly to us. Some of us use prayers from the Prayer Book, whose poetic language lifts us up out of ourselves and helps us feel the presence of God.  Some of us imagine having conversations with Jesus, just talking about whatever is in our hearts, opening up to Jesus so that Jesus can dwell in us. Some of us pray without words, feeling the Spirit move in our breath, seeing the light of Christ shining in each other and in ourselves. Some of us pray with all of the above. But no matter what style of prayer we use, the point of prayer is this: that in praying we come into the presence of God, so that God can transform our hearts, and God can empower our lives, and God can fill us with divine energy, so that we can radiate God’s love to the world.

Imagine coming to church some Sunday and seeing everyone’s face shining. We can be that church. We can shine with Christ’s light. We can pray. And we can live out our prayers together. Amen.

Prophet without Honor

by the Rev. Deacon James E. Gilman

The Gospel story in Luke 4:21-30 shows Jesus reminding the people of Nazareth of some dangerous stories from their tradition. In his sermon, the Rev. Jim Gilman reflects on how those stories might bring some eye-opening and risky remembrance to us, as well.

You may listen to the sermon by clicking here.

Introduction

What a provocative gospel story about Jesus. What happened? Was it something he said? How is it that at the beginning of this episode “[Everyone] spoke well of Jesus and were amazed at the gracious words that came from his mouth,” as Luke puts it, and by the end of it, “The [same people] got up, drove Jesus out of town, and led him to the brow of the hill… so that they might hurl him off the cliff.? Wow!! What a sudden and unexpected reversal of fortune for Jesus. Why is it that his home town neighbors praise him for his gracious words, on the one hand, but a short time later threaten him with death. What happened? What caused this sudden reversal? What does Jesus do to incite his neighbors?

Remembrance

The answer, I think, can be summed up in a single word: REMEMBRANCE! Now, remembrance seems like an innocuous and harmless activity. It is something we do often and happily. We recall, for example, warm and cozy things—like family and friendships and goodwill and vacations and the like. And that’s all well and good. But truth be told remembrance can also be a provocative and dangerous activity. In Jesus’ time remembrance was a common Jewish activity—in the home and at synagogue. By telling and re-telling ancient stories, as Jesus does here, a community remembers who it is and what it is suppose to be doing. Remembering and telling stories should be today a common Christian activity. And indeed it is. Remembrance is central to the sacrament of Holy Communion, which in a few minutes we celebrate.           

So, what is it about remembering that caused such a ruckus in Jesus’ hometown? What is it about the ancient stories Jesus refers to that is so scandalous? Why do his neighbors want to put him to death? The stories Jesus refers to are ones they are already familiar with. Why are they provoked? Partly it is because Jesus interprets them in such a way that his Jewish friends suddenly recognize that they are part of the narrative, characters in the plot.

Both stories are classic; they are about two prophets—Elijah and Elisha. Listen to these stories; listen to what is provocative about these stories; listen for how you and I, how the church today, is part of their narratives

(1) The first story is about the prophet Elijah and the widow of Zarephath. There is a famine throughout the land, both in Israel and in Sidon. Elijah goes to the village of Zarephath, a foreign, Gentile region of Sidon (today Lebanon). Sidon was a longtime enemy of Israel. A woman comes out to gather sticks. Elijah says, “Give me something to eat.” She says, “I’m gathering sticks so I can make a fire and cook the last of the food that I have. My family and I will eat it and then die.” Elijah says, “I don’t care, get me something to eat.” Now, the woman easily could have been offended and said, “Get lost;” but she didn’t. With great faith and kindness, she brings him the last bit of what she has to eat. Elijah then tells her that her jar of meal and oil will feed them during the long famine, and incredibly it does. The kicker is what Jesus says next. He says that at the time of this miracle there were also many widows in Israel who were dying of starvation; but Elijah was sent by God to none of them. He was sent not to the Chosen people Israel, but to a foreign enemy. The implication is that the people of Israel were faithless; that they had forsaken their God. So, Elijah brings God’s love to a woman of a foreign religion who, unlike the starving women of Israel, has faith enough to receive the power of God’s mercy. How could that be? How provocative! How dare Jesus claim that the faith of a devotee of a foreign, pagan religion is greater than the faith of God’s Chosen people.

(2)  The second story Jesus tells is even more graphic, offensive, and scandalous. Naaman is a general in the Syrian army. He carried out many military campaigns in northern Israel; a region God had allowed the Assyrians to eventually conquer, again because Israel had forsaken their God.  So this is a story not just about an enemy; but about a conqueror and oppressor. On one raid, Naaman captures a young Israelite woman; he takes her home as a slave. When Naaman contracts leprosy, the slave girl, out of compassion, tells him about a prophet in Israel, named Elisha. Naaman seeks out Elisha. When the general arrives, Elisha doesn’t even go out to greet him; he sends a message telling Naaman to go and bathe in the Jordan River. At first, Naaman is offended, but his servant convinces him that he should give it a go; he does, and is made whole. The kicker is what Jesus says next. He says that “There were many lepers in Israel in the days of Elisha but none of them were cleansed.” Only Naaman, the Syrian general, the foreigner, the oppressor, has faith and is healed. What? The faith of a conquering, enemy general is greater than the faith of Elisha’s own Chosen people? Saying this to Jews then,is today like saying the faith of a Muslim Iranian general is greater than that of an American Christian. The hometown crowd immediately recognize themselves as characters in the story’s plot. They are not amused. How scandalous? What nerve? For Jesus to praise the faith of a conquering general and to chastise Israel for its lack of faith.

Implications

So, remembrance is sometimes provocative and dangerous, as the people of Nazareth found out. But where in these stories do you and I as Christians discover ourselves? Where in these narratives is the church today to be found?  

There are least two provocative points I think Jesus is making in referring to these stories. (1) First, that the power of God’s healing grace is not just for the Chosen, but for people of all nations and people of all religions, yes, even enemies. Israel had come to idolize its own Chosenness; it came to believe its own press; with great pride Israel deceives itself into thinking it is a nation and religion superior to all others. So it is today, I think, with so-called American exceptionalism; many Christians buy into this deception: that somehow America as a nation is called to be a beacon to the world, a city on a hill.  Like Israel we are often smug in our own sense of Chosenness. Last I looked it is the Kingdom of God and not earthly nations that is exceptional; that the gospel Jesus taught and lived is what is exceptional; so that the power of God’s grace belongs to the church, to peoples of all nations; that the power of God’s grace in the lives of all faithful people is  what is exceptional.

(2) Secondly, by referring to these stories Jesus is reminding Israel that people of other religions also have great faith, and that we should learn from their faith. The faith of the widow of Sidon and the faith of the general of Syria invites the power of God’s healing grace; in contrast, the faith of God’s own people sometimes is lacking. Can we Christians accept that the faith of some Muslims or Hindus may be greater than our own? Just as Israel could learn from the faith of the widow and general, Christians can learn from the faith of people of other religions. Just as in ancient Israel, we American Christians often place more trust and confidence in superior military power and in superior wealth than in the power of God’s grace to heal and redeem. Just as Jesus was asking his Jewish neighbors to learn from the faith of foreigners, like the widow and general, he is asking the church today to learn from the faith of others;  like the faith of Gandhi, for example, who believed that the power of God’s grace was greater than the military might of the British Empire; that the power of what he called “soul force” is greater than the power of what he called “body force;” that the spiritual weapons of non-violent, civil disobedience are more powerful than the physical weapons of violence and brutality.   

Jesus could have told his neighbors pastoral stories instead of prophetic stories. On some occasions he did; but not on this occasion. The stories he told were provocative and dangerous. The story we come now to celebrate is also a dangerous story. By participating in Holy Communion we enter with our lives a narrative of grace and mercy and peace that Jesus calls his church to practice.  It is a story that, like those of Elijah and Elisha, draws us well beyond nationalistic, racial, ethnic, and class divisions; a story that enables us as faithful Christians to see the grace and mercy and love of Jesus even in the faith and faces of foreigners and enemies. To do this is not easy, not something we can do under our own human power. Only by God’s power can we as Christians see with Elijah and Elisha the power of God’s healing grace in the faith of people of other religions. May Holy Communion draw us into the narrative of God’s redemption; may in faith we receive Christ’s healing power and pass it on to others, especially those different from ourselves.

The Body of Christ

by The Rev. Dr. John D. Lane

This sermon is based on 1 Corinthians 12:27.

Now you are the body of Christ and individually members of it.

According to Tim Shriver, head of the Special Olympics, “Spirituality is about ‘me. Religion is about ‘we’.” Consider today’s passage from the1^st Epistle to the Corinthians. Paul writes:

For just as the body is one and has many members, and all the members of the body, though many, are one body, so it is with Christ. For in the one Spirit we were all baptized into one body–Jews or Greeks, slaves or free–and we were all made to drink of one Spirit. Indeed, the body does not consist of one member but of many. (1Cor 12:12-14)

Paul was writing in a very different time, when religion was an important part of everyone’s life. In different ways and to varying degrees, everyone was religious. Paul himself is astounded at the variety of religious expression he finds when he visits Athens, with temples and statues dedicated to all kinds of gods. According to Luke in Acts, Paul preaches to the Athenians as follows: “Athenians, I see how extremely religious you are in every way. For as I went through the city and looked carefully at the objects of your worship, I found among them an altar with the inscription, ‘To an unknown god.’” (Acts 17:22-23) The Athenians covered all their bases.

“I’m spiritual but not religious” is often a shorthand statement for not going to church. It is quite possible to be spiritual without being religious. And it is just as possible to be religious without being spiritual. One Trinity member was heard to say that a certain former rector–could have been me, I suppose–was a man who made him feel spiritual–by comparison!

I’ve worshiped in church virtually every Sunday of my life.; for 35 years, 2-3 times per Sunday. Yet there have been many periods when I didn’t feel spiritual. There were times when I didn’t read the Bible regularly, sometimes forgot to pray, and didn’t do much beyond worship to connect with God. As a mentor of mine once told me, “There’s a difference between leading worship and worshiping”, so I wasn’t even getting as much out of worship as I might in the pew. Even clergy not spiritual? Think of this as my Lance Armstrong moment. But, to continue in the same vein as Lance, I’m no different from everyone else.

Though one can be spiritual and not attend church, avoiding church is not the fastest route to holiness. As an Episcopalian, I believe in the middle way. As a Libra–if that means anything at all–I believe in balance. The Christian ideal is a combination, a balance of religion and spirituality. As Tim Shriver put it, “Spirituality is about ‘me. Religion is about ‘we’.” Though Shriver is correct, we can go on to say both spirituality and religion are important, both are vital components of a life well-lived.

Assuming those who say they are spiritual but not religious are in the minority here today, I want to talk about the role of spirituality in our lives. First, many of us live very busy lives. It is hard to relax. It is hard to find time to pray. One thing I have done for years, even in my times of worst spiritual neglect, is pray when I’m alone in the car, If you’re used to closing your eyes when you pray, make an exception when you’re behind the wheel. As Christians, we are obligated to pray for the church and the world. What better time to pray for the world than when we are out there, seeing all kinds of people in all kinds of circumstances.

Driving through downtown Staunton, we are easily reminded to pray for the emotionally and physically disabled. We can also pray for school children, government employees, business owners and their workers, police and fire fighters, the unemployed, immigrants, and the poor. I also pray when I walk. Since I retired, I do a lot of walking, mostly on the street. When the weather is bad I get on one of the machines at the Y. I usually take a book, but I take breaks occasionally between chapters and I do close my eyes and pray. It’s not as dangerous on the elliptical machine as it is while driving.

Most Monday evenings, Bizzy and I attend Mindfulness Meditation over in the Foster Room. We sit for an hour in directed meditation. Just last week, I was in a state of agitation as I drove down here, but I felt very much refreshed by the time I left. My burdens had been lifted by concentrating on being in the midst of silence. We’re supposed to meditate for 20 minutes each day at home, but Bizzy’s better at remembering this than I am. It’s also possible to pray when you can’t get to sleep or when you wake up in the middle of the night. In church we do emphasize the Episcopal calisthenics of sit, stand, and kneel, but at home lying down is a perfectly acceptable spiritual position.

Volunteering your time for outreach certainly feeds your spirituality. It’s impossible to go on a mission trip to Honduras or Haiti, serve Noon Lunch, work on a Habitat house, help out at the free clinic without finding yourself, often quite unexpectedly, closer to God.

Now you are the body of Christ and individually members of it.

Our spiritual moments feed our souls and leave us with more to give as members of the body of Christ, and this is important. It is also important to be religious, like each of you, to be here this morning. When we recite the Nicene Creed, we say “We believe,” not I believe. When we join in the Lord’s Prayer, it’s “Our Father,” not my Father.

We are each individuals, but gathering here on Sunday morning we are concerned with our collective life as Christians. It helps me as a Christian to be able to look across the aisle or look out from up here and see others who have got it together better than I have. I think of those who had the vision to establish and build this church–including my sainted predecessor Walter Hullihen who inspired some members of the congregation to go out and found Emmanuel Church, just to get away from him.

I look out at those who can sing and inspire us. I look out at those who teach our children and teach us. I remember Joan Bender, a woman who was in charge of recruiting Sunday school teachers at Holy Comforter-Charlotte back in the 70's. She asked one woman if she would be willing to teach 5^th grade for the coming year, and the woman said, “It’s just not my thing.” “Well,” replied Joan, “cleaning the bathroom isn’t my thing, but somebody’s got to do.” She told me she was shocked when the woman said, “I understand. I’ll do it.”

I look out at those who tend to our buildings and our grounds. I look out at those who raise and manage money. I look out at those who greet visitors every week, whether they are assigned this task or not. I look out at those who prepare and tend the altar. I look out at those whose wonderful contribution is just to be here every single week, praying on behalf of us all.

We’ve all been through tough times, and it is very nice to know that the members of this church are holding us up in prayer, bringing us food when we’re down and out, visiting us when we’re sick or grieving. Our family was blown away by the visits and food and cards we received when our son Andrew died. It buoyed us up more than you’ll ever know–unless you’ve had the same experience.

I’d like each of us to be able to say “I’m spiritual and I’m religious.” This is to understand the gospel and the words of Saint Paul: “Now you are the body of Christ and individually members of it.”

Saint Teresa of Avila wrote:

Christ has no body but yours,
No hands, no feet on earth but yours,
Yours are the eyes with which he looks
Compassion on this world,
Yours are the feet with which he walks to do good,
Yours are the hands, with which he blesses all the world.
Yours are the hands, yours are the feet,
Yours are the eyes, you are his body.
Christ has no body now but yours,
No hands, no feet on earth but yours,
Yours are the eyes with which he looks
compassion on this world.
Christ has no body now on earth but yours.

Amen.

The Bishop’s Address to Council 2013

Every year Bishop Powell makes an address to the Annual Diocesan Council gathered at Roanoke, and provides the text of his address to be read or made available in all the parishes of the diocese. On this day, in addition to the regular sermon preached at Trinity, we offer the Bishop's Address for your reflection.

The theme for this Council is “To every thing there is a season.” It has been a good year in all its seasons. The diocese is in a good place. The ordinariness of life as a bishop continues to be life-giving, especially the weekly rhythm of the visitations with the Eucharists, baptisms, and confirmations, punctuated by special events like ordinations and Annual Council.

Thank you for the mini-sabbatical last winter and spring, which gave me time to work on writing down some of my “stock sermons” and Bible stories in Oregon on the beautiful and restful Siuslaw River. The few weeks also allowed me to spend Holy Week and Easter in the Diocese of Bradford, drinking from the water of faith in that most beautiful and faith-filled Christian Community.

Throughout The Episcopal Church, and among virtually all denominations, the time span from 2000 to 2010 was a most difficult one in terms of membership and Sunday attendance. Our diocese did not escape this trend. Average Sunday Attendance (ASA) figures show an average loss of 2% a year during that decade. The surprise was that our loss was not nearly as great as the majority of other dioceses in our Province or in The Episcopal Church as a whole, an amazing steadiness in the face of declining population in towns throughout most of our diocese.

The good news is that this decade is starting out to be much better, much stronger. The most recent report available shows a remarkable 3.4% increase in our church attendance from 2010 to 2011. Well done, Diocese of Southwestern Virginia.

Numbers are not everything, and churches have to attract new members just to stay even to replace those who relocate or die or just move on. As a diocese, some years we go down a little, some years we stay the same, and from time to time we have a year of growth. This pattern is heroic when considered against the backdrop of the vast cultural and generational changes of the past fifty years. Some of our towns are literally disappearing as populations shift. A year of growth, even if it is just one, is a reminder of the promise that, in the end, God will win.

Moving beyond figures, as this is my last Council address I continue to reflect on these past sixteen years as your bishop. I have remained constant and faithful to my conviction that life in Christ and ministry in Christ begins with baptism. Baptism has been the theme of my episcopate, beginning with my ordination and consecration in Burruss Auditorium October 26, 1996. The cross at that ordination and consecration (which hangs behind me today) has a shell on it to remind us of our baptisms. The themes of many of our Councils have been taken from the promises we make at baptism. The workshops at Council are shaped around the promises of the Baptismal Covenant.

For sixteen years I have held up the value of healthy and wholesome clergy, lay leaders, and congregations; healthy and wholesome so that we may carry out the promises we make at baptism and serve the world in the name of the risen Christ.

Seamlessness is another value I continue to uphold, in particular the seamlessness of youngest to oldest; life together in Christ from birth, through baptism, through confirmation, and through lives lived in faith, until we are called Home. I have noticed references to seamless ministry seeping into our common language in the diocese.  

And, of course, prayer. There is no such thing as a Christian alone, there is no such thing as a congregation alone; we are all baptized into the body of Christ, and we uphold each other in our lives in Christ with prayer. One of the great surprises to me upon becoming your bishop was the awareness that I am prayed for at every Eucharist in this diocese. It is a humbling and uplifting experience.

We have had a number of additions to our life together these past sixteen years, programs that used to be new but are now part of the landscape:

Spring and Fall Clergy Days to strengthen the community of clergy.
Clergy and Spouses Lenten Quiet Days to strengthen our spiritual lives, and a morning before Council meeting to strengthen fellowship and our ministries together.
Wardens’ Days and Treasurers’ Days to enhance the ministry of wardens and treasurers and to build community among our parish leaders.
Deacons to insure and enable us to carry out the promises we make at baptism to seek and serve Christ in all persons and to strive for justice and peace among all people. Vocational deacons as a separate and equal order in this diocese began with two deacons who came to us from other dioceses. Adding to that, eight new deacons have been locally formed and ordained, and two more are in the process.
The Legacy Society to fund future ministry in our congregations, in the diocese, and in our institutions is now well established.

We have strengthened and deepened the formation program for persons locally trained for the priesthood, and access for those bound for seminary was opened up to young adults. Over half of those entering three-year residential seminary formation from this diocese are under age thirty.

Annual Council is the icon, the lens, and the vessel where these values and goals have all come together. Council is family reunion, business, worship, celebration, singing, and Christian leadership, and spiritual formation all wrapped into one great package. We added Children at Council from our youngest through grade five. We have greatly expanded Youth at Council for those in sixth grade through high school. We added Saturday at Council workshops.  There is a modest and growing presence of young adults and college students at Council, growing out of Youth at Council. We have the finest Annual Council or Convention in The Episcopal Church.  

Likewise, we have the finest diocesan youth program in The Episcopal Church. To the already existing program here sixteen years ago we made the youth minister position full-time and hired top-flight professionals to lead it. Over the years we added Spring and Fall Youth Events, then Mass on the Mountain; and most recently Happening was brought into the diocese. Much of this work was accomplished due to the creation of a vibrant Youth Ministry Team and the offering of training and support directly to local congregations. You can be proud of youth work in The Diocese of Southwestern Virginia.

There are growing edges and challenges facing us. Changing demographics means a growing Latino/Hispanic presence in our midst. We have the teeniest, tiniest, mustard-seed-size Latino/Hispanic ministry beginning in the diocese. We need to nurture that seed. God is giving us a gift by sending Hispanic and Latino people to live among us. We believe passionately in the motto “The Episcopal Church Welcomes You.” May these newcomers among us experience that love and that welcome. With God’s help we can do it.

I mentioned young adults earlier. In addition to those bonded to the church through the youth programs, young adults have had their faith nourished through the Canterbury programs at our colleges and universities. Let us continue to welcome them among us as the church of today while they are in their twenties. We can do it.

Networking and new models of ministry have been hallmarks of the diocese from our earliest days, clear back to the deaconesses, to the yoking and clustering of congregations, to clergy teams, total ministry teams, and areas of cooperation in ministry. Much of this creative approach comes from a history of what we have now termed a “household of congregations.” The Search and Nominating Committee for the new bishop noted in the diocesan profile that we are a family-sized diocese with much of which to be proud.

We are now in the midst of preparing for a new season in our diocese. As the Fifth Bishop of Southwestern Virginia I look forward to helping to elect, ordain, and consecrate the Sixth Bishop of Southwestern Virginia. The members of the Search and Nominating Committee and the Transition Committee have worked prayerfully and hard. They have reported to us how enthusiastic and inspired all of the candidates are by the life and vitality of this diocese. You have five fine men and women to choose among. I trust that, with God’s help, we will choose wisely and prayerfully.

Now, my final words of advice.  Do not forget:

1. Pray.  Before, during, and after all that you do, pray.
2. Build on your strengths and celebrate the victories.

3. In all things give thanks to God.  
4. Know that ministry begins with baptism, and the vows we make at baptism form the outline of our life.
5. Remember that we are all in this boat together. When one part of the body suffers, we all suffer. When one part of the body rejoices, we all rejoice.
6. Fear not. Be not afraid. For God loves you more than you can ask or even begin to imagine. And, I have peeked at the end of The Good Book. God wins. God will prevail.

Amen.

Don't Drink the Water

by The Rev. Paul S. Nancarrow

This sermon is based on John 2:1-11. Click here to listen to an audio version.

It's good to be home! I must say I feel a little like "the flying rector" — last Sunday gone to Honduras, here today, next Sunday gone to Diocesan Council — but after that, I promise, there'll be a good long stretch of Sundays when I'll be home. And it is good to be home.

One of the first things I enjoyed about being home, when Lee and I got back to the Rectory just after midnight on Thursday, was getting ready for bed and brushing my teeth with tap water. I know it seems silly to fixate on such minor details, but being able to use the tap water after a week of doing everything in a cup felt like an enormous luxury. You see, when we are in Copan, we have to be very careful about eating and drinking local stuff. The water in Copan is pretty clean by global standards; but even clean water has some microorganisms living in it; and the microorganisms there are different from the microorganisms here; and since our bodies are not accustomed to them, the microorganisms there can make us pretty sick. Any of you who have travelled in the third world know what I am talking about. So when we are in Copan we have to make sure we do everything with bottled purified water. We lug big bottles of agua purificado up to the worksite; we only eat at restaurants that use purified water for cooking and washing up; the hotel provides a water cooler from which we get pitchers of purified water for all our needs inside our rooms. We don't even eat fruit from a streetside seller that might have been washed in local water, because the risk of getting sick is just too great. And that's why, at the end of the workday, sitting around the pool at the hotel, we would relax with a nice cold beer: because the beer comes in bottles, and we know that it is pure. (Okay, that was one of the reasons we'd end the day with a beer...)

It occurred to me one day that drinking beer because the water wasn't safe was actually something that put us in touch with a way of life in the ancient world. Archaeologists have found that the ancient Sumerians and ancient Egyptians brewed tremendous quantities of beer, because the water wasn't safe, and brewing the water into beer purified it enough to make it drinkable. In ancient Israel they preferred wine over beer; but for them the principal was the same: the alcohol in the wine would kill the germs, and that would make it safe to drink. In fact, it was common practice to mix wine and water: ancient wine was very strong, and not very pleasant tasting, not like the more delectable wines developed in modern times; so in the ancient world, you mixed wine and water because the water made wine less nasty, and the wine made the water less dangerous. Being careful with our water in Copan made me appreciate more practically a fact I knew about the history of the ancient world.

And that experience in Copan made me read our Gospel passage today with an understanding I've not had before. Having had to remind myself not to drink the water made me appreciate more what was at stake when Jesus turned the water into wine.

For years, I have taught and preached that, of all the miracles of Jesus, this is the one miracle Jesus does just for the joy of it. In the wine miracle, no one's health is at stake, no one's life is on the line, no one is possessed by demons, no one is endangered by a storm, no one's being is at risk — the wine miracle is the one miracle Jesus does for no other reason than to show forth the joyous abundance of God's love. That's what I have taught about this miracle story for years.

I was wrong.

People's health is at stake in this story, because the water Jesus told the servants to put in those six stone jars was iffy at best, dangerous at worst, in any case a risk to drink — and if the party had gone on under those circumstances, every single guest would have been endangered, every single guest stood a chance of getting sick. When Jesus changed that water into wine, he was in fact keeping everyone at that wedding in good health. This miracle is not just about abundant joy, but it is very much about health and well-being and getting saved from sickness. Being in Copan has helped me see that now.

And of course the really wonderful thing about this story is that the bodily concern for not getting sick and the spiritual revelation of joyous abundance are not two separate things. I mean, no one was forcing the people to drink that water. If the wine ran out, and the water wasn’t safe, the bride and groom could have simply declared the party over and sent everybody home. It would have been embarrassing, yes, but it wouldn’t have been the end of the world. When Jesus changed the water into wine, he did it so the party could continue, he did it so the fellowship and the hospitality and conviviality could go on, and could grow, and could become in the minds and hearts of the guests more than just a party, but could become a sign, an outward and visible signification of the goodness and generosity and abundant joy of the Kingdom of God. After all, using a wedding feast as a symbol of God’s Reign was an old tradition in Jewish thought — we see it in our first reading today — and by allowing the feast to go on without anyone getting sick, Jesus gave the people not just idea of the symbol in their minds, but the experience of the symbol in themselves. By allowing the feast to go on without anyone getting sick, Jesus allowed those guests to know God reigning in their midst. The miracle of health and the miracle of joy are one and the same.

And that's the part of the story my eyes were really opened to by being in Copan. Too often, I think, we fall into the trap of thinking of the work we do for the body and the work we do for the soul as two different things. We get a little caught up in Maslow's hierarchy of needs, and think that we must see to the needs of the body first, see to food and drink and shelter and clothing; and afterwards, when the primary needs have been met, then we can turn to secondary things like prayer and spirituality and beauty and music and conviviality and joy. From time to time I have met churchpeople deeply committed to social ministries, who seem to think joy is a luxury they cannot deserve, who don't seem to feel they're being faithful unless they have some injustice to be outraged about, some wrong to which they can oppose their righteous anger. From time to time our Honduras mission has been criticized, because we go to Copan to build church buildings, and there are those who feel we ought to be doing something more practical, like a medical mission or a clean-water project or building houses for people rather than houses for worship. Sometimes we feel we must work to meet people's bodily needs first, and we can get to all that spiritual stuff later... if people want it of us.

But what our Gospel today tells us is that that kind of gap between bodily and spiritual just isn't real. Creating conditions of bodily well-being opens up a spirit of abundant joy, and creating occasions of spiritual abundance helps to sustain the body's health, and God's Reign is epiphanized in both. The houses of worship we build in Copan are usually among the largest buildings in the small communities we go to, and that means they also serve as community centers, classrooms, clinics when a medical team visits, meeting places when the village needs to get together — those buildings serve social needs along with the spiritual. Medical studies show that prayer and meditation and contemplation and music, such as we have here at Trinity, have positive bodily health benefits; and I have seen how the bodily feeding ministry we do at Noon Lunch has opened into a spirit of gratitude and groundedness and renewal of hope in many of our guests. The spirit and the body are deeply intertwined; and the example of Jesus in our Gospel today shows us how we can minister to both.

Jesus changed water into wine as a proclamation of God's will for our physical well-being and our abundance of spiritual joy. Having to be careful about drinking the water in Copan helped me see more clearly the intertwining of that gracious gift. May God grant you occasion to know the gift of bodily well-being and spiritual joy as well. Amen.

Baptized for What?

by The Rev. Dr. John D. Lane

Baptized for What?

This sermon is based on Luke 3:16.


John answered all of them by saying, “I baptize you with water; but one who is more powerful than I is coming; I am not worthy to untie the thong of his sandals. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire.”

Two weeks ago, I was sitting here at the 8:45 Eucharist, where the sermon time was given over to a very interesting discussion. We were focused on the Prologue to John’s Gospel: “In the beginning was the Word ...” Speaking of the Word, thirty years ago a book called The Reader’s Digest Bible was published. The effort by one of the world’s most-respected biblical scholars, Bruce Metzger, was to edit and shorten The Holy Bible, in hopes that more people would read it. All these years later, I remember the start of one book review: “In the beginning was the word, and the word was too long.” First paragraph of this sermon and I’m already off topic.

Today is the feast of the Baptism of Christ. Most of us have been baptized. I was baptized privately at Trinity Church-Princeton when I was a little baby. The baptismal party consisting of my parents, my two sisters, and several aunts and uncles, three of them godparents, gathered after the late service. The baptistry was a separate room which nobody entered at other times. One sister and I are the only living witnesses to this event. Now, we celebrate most baptisms publicly, and we renew our own vows at the same time, with a multitude of witnesses, a great improvement in my opinion. Baptism is about all of us, not just the one being baptized.

Most of us here have been baptized. Most of us don’t remember the ceremony because we were very young at the time. Yet we still know that we were baptized. Holy Baptism is the rite that makes us Christians, followers of Christ. What difference does this make to me and you, that we are baptized Christians? A question worth pondering.

“I baptize you with water; but one who is more powerful than I is coming; I am not worthy to untie the thong of his sandals. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire.”

Baptism is a moment. A wedding is a moment. Ordination is a moment. Confirmation is a moment. But all of these moments lead to a journey. After Baptism we grow in faith. After a wedding the journey of a lifetime together begins. After Ordination clergy embark on a journey that will carry us we know not where–maybe even Staunton. Who knew? I certainly didn’t, though it’s been a very fulfilling place for me. After Confirmation we take more personal responsibility for our faith and the Church. We know that even good marriages have their rough spots. So does the life of faith. “I believe, O Lord; help thou my unbelief.”

E-piphany is the season of another E-word, the one that terrifies E-piscopalians: E-vangelism. This is the time to concentrate on developing our faith and sharing it with others. Being an evangelist doesn’t usually mean preaching at other people, but being ready to tell the story of our faith when we have a chance. As Saint Francis put it, “Preach constantly; if necessary, use words.” He was definitely talking to every Christian, not just clergy.

Mormons are particularly committed to evangelism, and they take literally the biblical injunction to go out “two by two.” I laud their practice of spending two years as a missionary, though I don’t buy their message. Twenty years ago, I actually let a couple of Mormon missionaries into my house. I was curious not about their message–I’d read a good deal about Mormonism–but how they

They asked me if I knew anything about their faith, and I said yes. I also told them that I was an Episcopal priest and unlikely to convert. I mentioned some of their specific doctrine, but they got out flip charts having nothing to do with my questions. Like Ol’ Man River they just kept rolling along. I’m pretty convinced nothing I could have said or done would have kept them from keepin’ on keepin’ on. Life is too short. I told them it was time to go.

To Episcopalians, evangelism is different from talking at other people. Effective evangelism involves a lot of listening. It’s a little bit like the woman who found herself at two dinner parties sitting next to  two different men. After the first dinner, she thought the man beside her was very interesting. After the second dinner, she thought that she must be very interesting. The second man encouraged her to talk about herself. He was charming.

I hope you will become more comfortable with evangelism, and actually practice it from time to time. Even if you never reach that point, there are some questions each of us needs to consider: As a baptized and active Christian, how am I different from others? How am I the same? How does my faith affect my life? Many of you have seen the movie The Godfather. ‘Godfather’ is, of course, a Christian term. Don Corleone has stood in this role at numerous baptisms. The movie moves back and forth between this role, the good things that the Don does, and the evil things he does. The message is that there is a huge disconnect between his Catholicism and his position as head of a Mafia family. He’s not the only person in today’s society who fails to connect an hour on Sunday morning with the rest of the week.

In a society which used to be nominally Christian, Christians are now in the minority. We lived in New Orleans which is listed as 80-85% Roman Catholic. Many of these ‘Catholics’ haven’t been inside a church in years, but they still consider themselves Catholic. The number of Episcopalians nationwide has declined also–from 3% to 2% of the population the last time I looked. Often we are told that the reason so many people have left is because of all our in-your-face decisions about race, gender, sexual preferences, etc. If people weren’t willing to work their way through these difficult topics, I think it’s ultimately their loss.

Paul has entrusted me to preach to you, this week and two weeks from now, so I don’t want to mess things up with what I say next, but I’ll say it anyway. I’m less interested in why the disaffected left, and much more interested in why each of you stayed and, just as much, why there are so many new faces here in the 5 years since I retired. Why are you still here? Why have you been attracted to Trinity? What does your faith mean to you? The Episcopal Church is better at questions than answers. The good news is that they tend to be important questions, things that we need to wrestle with not only individually, but corporately. I’ve been an Episcopalian for 68 years–given my mother’s proclivities, probably even longer. I consider this a blessing, even though it hasn’t always been an easy road. My prayer is that each of you will find your faith influencing the rest of your life on a daily basis, while still realizing that all of life, even faith, is a journey. It’s full of ups and downs. Why are you here today? Answer that.

I want to leave you with a final story, which might be about ineffective evangelism, not about careful listening. Ponder what you can learn from it. I don’t intend to explain it.

The Bishop of Kansas tells of a former parishioner who had done well in business and then retired. His passion was exotic travel, and he found himself sitting next to a stranger on an airplane. He couldn’t wait to tell him about all the places he’d been and the adventures he’d had. “I’ve traveled to several African countries and photographed an amazing array of animals. I went to Nepal and trekked and climbed in the Himalayas. I sailed to Antarctica, saw many varieties of penguins, and came back around Cape Horn, just like Magellan!” The man went on for a good while the other man politely listened. As they were leaving the plane he introduced himself to his seat-mate, who replied, “Pleased to meet you and hear your stories. I’m Neil Armstrong.”