Bread from Heaven (Proper 12B)

Bread from Heaven

Proper 12B
22 July 2012; 8:00 a.m. Said Mass and 10:00 a.m. Sung Mass

Homily Delivered by the Rev. Dr. Anthony Hutchinson

at Trinity Episcopal Church, Ashland, Oregon

2 Kings 4:42-44; Psalm 145; Ephesians 3:14-21; John 6:1-21

God, take away our hearts of stone, and give us hearts of flesh. Amen.

The film A River Runs Through It tells the story of Norman Maclean, who grows up in 1920s Montana living with his Scots Presbyterian minister father and brother.  The film opens with the deceivingly simple line, “In our family, there was no clear line between religion and fly fishing.” 

How possibly can fly fishing and religion be connected?  Most people, I think, find it difficult to see any connection between religion and everyday life.  We generally are conditioned to see faith, holiness, and religion over here—special, sacred, and separate, and everyday life over here, ordinary, profane, and common.  The very word “sacred” means “dedicated or set apart for worship of a deity.”  If something is set apart, that means it isn’t ordinary, it isn’t everyday. 

But what the character Robert Maclean means by this becomes clearer as he tells the story of his family.  Fly fishing on the Blackfoot River is part of the rhythms of the family’s life, where the sons struggle in the shadow of their minister father to find their way of being human, of making something beautiful of their life.  “As for my father,” Maclean says at one point, “I never knew whether he believed God was a mathematician, but he certainly believed God could count and that it was only in picking up God’s rhythm were we able to regain power and beauty.  Unlike many Presbyterians, he often used the word ‘beautiful.’” 

Today’s reading from the Gospel of John tells us a story where the holy and truly unusual intersects with everyday life.  In it, Jesus shows us that God not only can count, but knows also how to multiply.  The “multiplication of the loaves,” where five barley breads and two fish, once blessed by Jesus, feed over 5,000 people, is a story that occurs in all four Gospels.   In Mark, Matthew, and Luke, the story demonstrates the power of Jesus and his role as Messiah.   In John, it forms part of that Gospel’s Book of Signs, a recounting of marvelous deeds by Jesus that point beyond themselves to inner, hidden truths about Jesus: turning water into wine shows he is the true Vine, multiplying the loaves shows he is the Bread of Life, curing the man born blind shows he is the Light of the World, and raising Lazarus from the dead shows he is the Life of the world.  The point is that Jesus gives us joy, changes us, nourishes us and sustains us, makes things clear for us, and makes us truly, fully alive. 

Jesus’ feeding of the 5,000 here is a sign pointing to and embodying the truth that Jesus is both nourisher and nourishment.    Right after this story, Jesus gives the sermon of the Bread of Life, where he expands of what this sign shows:  “I am the bread of life.  The one who comes to me shall not hunger.  The one who believes in me shall never thirst.  … I am the living bread come down from heaven.  Anyone who eats this bread shall live forever.  The bread which I shall give for the life of the world is my flesh.  … Unless you eat of the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you have no life in you.  The one who eats my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life, and I shall raise him up at the last day” (John 6: 35-54). 

Where the Synoptics say Jesus took the loaves and fish and “blessed them and gave them” to the people, John alone uses the language, “he gave thanks (eucharistesas) and distributed (diedoken)” them.   Those words link this story to early Christian sacrament of the Eucharist, which, after all, means “Thanksgiving”.

St. Paul, writing about 25 years after the death of Jesus, described the origin of this sacrament in this way:  “For I received from the Lord what I also passed on to you: The Lord Jesus, on the night he was betrayed, took bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it and said, ‘This is my body, which is for you; do this in remembrance of me.’ In the same way, after supper he took the cup, saying, ‘This cup is the new covenant in my blood; do this, whenever you drink it, in remembrance of me.’  For whenever you eat this bread and drink this cup, you proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes.   So then, whoever eats the bread or drinks the cup of the Lord in an unworthy manner will be guilty of sinning against the body and blood of the Lord.  (1 Corinthians 11:23-27) 

Though Matthew, Mark, and Luke all tell this same basic story, John, for his part, does not tell of a Eucharistic prayer at the Last Supper.  But that is because the Fourth Gospel removes literal references to sacraments in stories about Jesus and instead talks about their meaning.   Jesus never receives baptism by John the Baptist in the Fourth Gospel; instead he works a sign by telling the Samaritan woman her background and offering her the “Living Water,”  mentions birth “by water and by the spirit” to Nicodemus, and has water flow from his pierced side on the Cross. 

Similarly, for John, there is no Eucharistic prayer at the Last Supper, but rather the feeding of the 5,000 points to and embodies the fact that Jesus is the Bread from Heaven, and the bread for which he gives thanks id Jesus made present to us.

The Bread of Life Sermon in John and the Last Supper narratives in Paul and the Synoptics brought the Church early on to recognize the Real Presence of Christ in the Eucharist celebration and in the Eucharistic elements themselves.   The bread and the wine were thus seen as holy things for people seeking holiness. 

An early Christian hymn by Ephrem of Edessa, writing in a form of Aramaic in the fourth century expresses the wonder and reverence of this belief well: 

Lord, your robe’s the well from which our healing flows.
Just behind this outer layer hides your power.
Spittle from your mouth creates a miracle of light within its clay.

In your bread there blows what no mouth can devour.
In your wine there smoulders what no lips can drink.
Gale and Blaze in bread and wine: unparalleled the miracle we taste.

Coming down to earth, where human beings die,
God created these anew, like Wide-eyed Ones,
mingling Blaze and Gale and making these the mystic content of their dust.

Did the Seraph’s fingers touch the white-hot coal?
Did the Prophet’s mouth do more than touch the same?
No, they grasped it not and he consumed it not. To us are granted both.

Abram offered body-food to spirit-guests.
Angels swallowed meat. The newest proof of power
is that bodies eat and drink the Fire and Wind provided by our Lord.
                                          (tr. Geoffrey Rowell) 

We live today in an age where much of the wonder, awe, and reverence has been removed from life, a world where the realm of the sacred and holy is getting smaller and smaller.  That’s one of the reasons we have difficulty understanding a statement like “in our family, there was not a clear line between religion and fly fishing.” 

But if we are to be fully human, and true to our nature, we must not lose our sense of the holy, our sense of reverence, and our ability to see the holy, to see divinity, in ordinary things of daily life, like bread and wine.

When I hear people mock belief in the real presence of Christ in the Eucharist as superstitious “cookie worship,” I question their capacity to wonder or hold anything in awe or reverence.  Part of the problem, of course, is that some people do indeed have superstitious and magical ways of seeing the Eucharist.  “Hocus-pocus” as a way to mock superstition is a corruption of the Latin translation of Jesus’ words when he instituted the Eucharist, “Hoc est corpus meum (This is my body).”   

But some peoples’ bad opinions or misuse of doctrine should not lead us to the opposite error of rejecting true doctrine.  We need to follow here the example of the young Elizabeth I, who affirmed her faith the Real Presence while declining to over-define the matter.  When queried under threat of possible torture or death as a heretic by Queen Mary’s inquisitors about her belief regarding the Eucharistic elements, Elizabeth referred to Jesus’ words “this is my body, this is my blood,” and replied with this quatrain: 

Christ was the word that spake it.
He took the bread and break it;
And what his words did make it
That I believe and take it.
 

Key in experiencing and honoring the presence of Christ in the Eucharist is having a general idea about what a sacrament is.  It is, just as in our Gospel story today, a sign, a symbol, an outward and visible expression of inward, hidden reality.  A symbol does not just point beyond itself to something else; it participates in and embodies the reality to which it points.  It makes the reality it indicates available to us by the very fact that it is there.   It is for this reason that any understanding of the Eucharist that does not encompass a belief in the real presence of Christ is to my mind flawed.  

It is hard to express the reverence and awe I feel at the presence of Christ in the sacrament.  But hymns, like the one of Efrem the Syrian I quoted earlier, manage at times to capture elements of this awe. 
Today’s introit hymn:

“Here our humblest homage pay we,
Here in loving reference bow;
Here for faith’s discernment pray we,
Lest we fail to know You now.
You are here, we ask not how.”

“Life imparting heavenly Manna,
Smitten Rock with streaming side,
Heaven and earth with loud hosanna
Worship You, the Lamb Who died.
Risen, ascended, glorified!”

Another hymn we sing today speaks of how our worship in the sacrament of the Eucharist must fit into a larger sacrament of life for us:  

Draw us in the Spirit’s tether;
For when humbly, in thy name,
Two or three are met together,
Thou art in the midst of them:
Alleluya! Alleluya! Touch we now thy garment’s hem.

As the faithful used to gather
In the name of Christ to sup,
Then with thanks to God the Father
Break the bread and bless the cup,
Alleluya! Alleluya! So knit thou our friendship up.

All our meals and all our living
Make as sacraments of thee,
That by caring, helping, giving,
We may true disciples be.
Alleluya! Alleluya! We will serve thee faithfully.

And simply, in the hymn, “Lord you give the great commission”:  “Lord, you make the common holy, this my body, this my blood.  Let us all, for earth’s true glory, daily lift life heavenward.” 

When we pray the Lord’s Prayer, we ask “give us this day our daily bread.”  But this is not simply a prayer for basic physical sustenance.   The words translated by “our daily bread” actually mean something more like “our bread for the morrow,” the bread of the great feast on the Day of the Lord, or “the bread beyond what you meant when you said, ‘man shall not live by bread alone.’”  It is for this reason that the Lord’s Prayer has always been recited as part of the Great Thanksgiving, just before the breaking of the bread. 

Friends, in the coming week, please remember to say the Lord’s Prayer at least once a day.  And when you say the words, “give us this day our daily bread,” think of the Bread of Life, come down from heaven. Think of Christ made present to us in God’s gifts of bread and the wine, at his table of plenty.  And then in your silent time, your private prayers, feed on him in your hearts by faith, and be thankful.

In the name of Christ, Amen. 

Joyful Christianity (Midweek Message)

Joyful Christianity

A note to all of us on how we read the stories about Jesus in the Gospels—remember to look for Jesus’ humor, jokes, and peasant wit.  It will go a long way in opening his teaching to us.  In most of his parables and short sayings, there is an exuberance and irony that jump out from the page at us. 

“What is the Kingdom of God like?” Jesus answers in strange ways:  “Like a large unclean mustard weed!”  “Like an eccentric woman who loses a coin and looks all day for it, and then throws a party many times its value when she finds it!”  “Like a crooked household manager who creates a golden parachute for himself when he learns he is about to be sacked!” 

I believe that the “treasure hidden in a field” and the “pearl of great price” can only be revealed to our view when we laugh, and accept with happiness the pitiful incongruities in our pretensions. 

Kenneth S. Leong writes the following in his great book, The Zen Teachings of Jesus: 

“If we are to understand the spiritual truth of the Gospels, we must begin to observe their poetry and cosmic jokes.  Many Christians (and Buddhists also) have a tendency to undervalue joy, fun, laughter, and jokes, much to their detriment.  During one of my Zen classes, I ask my students to close their eyes and visualize Buddha.  After that, I also asked them to visualize Jesus Christ.  The I asked them what their pictures of Buddha and Christ were like.  Not surprisingly, most of them described Buddha as a smiling figure and Jesus Christ as a sober figure.

“[We must remember] the joyful Jesus.  Laughter, particularly in what we call the ‘real’ (translated as ‘joyless’) world, is a key ingredient to our spiritual health. …

“Joy is an ability of the soul.  It is not a natural instinct.  If it were, we should find most people joyful.  Rather, joy has to be learned.”  (pp. 22-23)

May we learn joy, and how to smile and laugh, and not take ourselves so seriously.  May we learn to get the jokes that Jesus tells us, again and again, in the Gospels. 

Grace and Peace,

--Fr. Tony+

Mixing Metaphors (Proper 11B)

Mixing Metaphors
Eighth Sunday after Pentecost (Proper 11 B)
22 July 2012
8:00 a.m. Said Mass and 10:00 a.m. Sung Mass

Homily Delivered at Trinity Episcopal Church

Ashland, Oregon

Jeremiah 23:1-6; Psalm 23; Ephesians 2:11-22; Mark 6:30-34, 53-56

God, take away our hearts of stone and give us hearts of flesh.  Amen

Years ago, a friend of ours told us the story of how she grew up as a hearing child of two deaf parents. She was a gifted singer, and regularly sang in one of the state’s best high school choirs. Her parents attended every one of her performances. Once, other parents asked them why they came to all her concerts since they couldn’t hear her. “Oh,” they replied through an interpreter, “we don’t come to hear her sing. We come to see her sing. We are so proud of her.”

The image of our friend’s deaf parents admiringly going to see her sing tells me a great deal about love.

We are creatures of words and images. We tell stories, draw comparisons. We think and feel in metaphor and simile. We define ourselves in large part by the stories we choose to tell and not to tell, and by the images we choose to describe our world.

What images do you use to think of God?

A sovereign monarch, or a parent?

A supernatural being standing apart from the phenomenal universe, or the ground in which we live, and move, and have our being?

An intimate, or some abstract power?

A vindicator of the oppressed?

A law-giver and law-enforcer? Or a healer?

Is God for you a redundancy, a useless story that really doesn’t tell us anything about the world as it actually is?

Or does your God have the face of Jesus?

We need to reflect on the images we use to think and feel about God and the world. Are they useful? Are they healthy? Are they true?

We mustn’t take metaphors literally. That robs them of their ability to tell us what we need. “God as a parent” could mean a loving nurturer or an abusive domestic tyrant. We need to recognize the true point of a comparison or we risk being misled.

Julian of Norwich

Though our tradition has been generally to use the metaphors “father” and “son” to speak of God, we mustn’t, again, take this literally.  Speaking of God the parent or God the child as “mother” reveals useful truth as well, as found in the canticle by Blessed Julian of Norwich: 

God chose to be our mother in all things
and so made the foundation of his work,
most humble and most pure,
in the Virgin's womb.

God, the perfect wisdom of all,
arrayed himself in this humble place.

Christ came in our poor flesh
to share a mother's care.

Our mothers bear us for pain and for death;
our true mother, Jesus,
bears us for joy and endless life.

Christ carried us within him in love and travail,
until the full time of his passion.

And when all was completed
and he had carried us so for joy,
still all this could not satisfy
the power of his wonderful love.

All that we owe is redeemed in truly loving God,
for the love of Christ works in us;
Christ is the one whom we love.

Today’s readings are rich in images. Jeremiah talks about the last kings of Judah as careless, harmful shepherds, and counters this with the assurance of an ideal future king who will safely shepherd his people.

The beloved 23rd Psalm describes God as a loving shepherd and a gracious host. 

And Saint Mark in the Gospel says that Jesus, in a short foray into Gentile territory, looked with pity at the crowds, many of whom were probably Gentiles, because they were “like sheep that had lost their shepherd.” Moved with compassion, he teaches and heals them too.

Today’s epistle doesn’t use the image “shepherd” like the other passages. St. Paul describes the inclusion of Gentiles as well as Jews in the early Church by saying Christ is “our peace” who “broke down the wall dividing us.” Later, John’s Gospel would describe this same event by having Jesus say he is the Good Shepherd and add “Other sheep I have, which are not of this flock: them also I must bring, and they too shall hear my voice; and there shall be one flock, and one shepherd” (John 10:16).

Today’s passages together suggest that despite difficulty, hardship, or horror, we must trust God, in whose hand we all are. This trust must lead us to transcend ourselves, and reach out to others.

No metaphor is perfect, so we often end up mixing them to make the point of comparison clear.

Most people today have never seen a shepherd, and so they do not find Psalm 23’s image of a shepherd very helpful. But they understand its image of a gracious host. Think of a real person you know who is truly a gracious host or hostess, and what that person does to make the guest comfortable. The Palmist says that’s what God is like.

An authentic image helps describe reality, not create a false picture in the place of it.

Jeremiah does not say that since God established the kings of Judah, they can do no wrong. He openly admits how rotten things are, and accuses those who attribute this to God’s will. He admits how wrong things are, but declares hope nonetheless, shifting it to a future ideal king.

Psalm 23 expresses trust in the here and now. The reason people find it so comforting in times of trouble is that even as it expresses trust and hope, it mentions things that cause doubt and fear. It takes seriously the dangers that are very much a part of life: the valley of the shadow of death; the enemies that surround, even at a banquet. Psalm 23 does not falsify the harsh reality of life but does not let hope get swallowed by it.

Contrast this with the common use made of the image of a God who hears and answers prayers, blesses the righteous, and punishes the wicked. Many seem to think that this describes how life is, period. Oh, if it were only that simple! The Book of Deuteronomy, the historical books of the Hebrew Bible, and Proverbs seem to teach this, but the Book of Job and Ecclesiastes clearly disagree.

Rabbi Harold Kushner, author of When Bad Things Happen to Good People, says the twenty-third Psalm is the answer to the question, “How do you live in a dangerous, unpredictable, frightening world?” Right after 9/11, many people asked him “How could God have let such a thing happen?” His answer was “God's promise was never that life would be fair. God's promise was, when it's your turn to confront the unfairness of life, no matter how hard it is, you'll be able to handle it, because He'll be on your side. He will give you the strength you need to find your way through. … “Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for Thou art with me.” [does not mean], “I will fear no evil because evil only happens to people who deserve it.” [Rather,] “This is a scary, out-of-control world, but it doesn't scare me, because I know that God is on my side, not on the side of the . . . the terrible thing that [has] happened. And that's enough to give me the confidence.”

Trusting the living God despite our woes (or is it because of them?), we realize that we all are in God’s hand. We realize the truth of the saying, “there but for the grace of God go I.”  And if we all are the people of God’s pasture and the sheep of God’s hand, then certainly we ourselves must reach out our hands to all.

The surest way we can demonstrate our trust in this loving shepherd is by loving. The most direct way of showing our gratitude for our gracious host is by being gracious to others, especially those most unlike us.

Anglican Divine George Herbert developed the image of God as a gracious host in these words:

Love bade me welcome: yet my soul drew back,
Guilty of dust and sin.
But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack
From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning,
If I lacked anything.
‘A guest,’ I answered, ‘worthy to be here’:
Love said, ‘You shall be he.’
‘I, the unkind, ungrateful? Ah my dear,
I cannot look on thee.’
Love took my hand, and smiling did reply,
‘Who made the eyes but I?’
‘Truth Lord, but I have marred them: let my shame
Go where it doth deserve.’
‘And know you not,’ says Love, ‘who bore the blame?
My dear, then I will serve.
You must sit down,’ says Love, ‘and taste my meat’:
So I did sit and eat.

---George Herbert, The Temple (1633) “Love (3)”

May we all so partake of the feast our gracious host offers.  May we share the feast with others.  May we all let our shepherd gently lay us on his shoulder as he carries us home, and may we gently carry our fellows.  Christ is our peace, and has broken down the dividing wall.  Let us serve and love our fellow guests, the other lambs of our flock.

In the name of God, Amen.

Akasie, Douthat, and General Convention (Mid-week Message)

Fr. Tony’s Mid-week Message  July 18, 2012

Akasie, Douthat, and General Convention

Last Sunday a lot of parishioners brought to my attention a couple of items in the media—in the Wall Street Journal and the New York Times—that were highly critical and dismissive of the Episcopal Church and the recently completed General Convention. 

This coming Sunday during the 9 a.m. Parish Forum, Trinity Parish’s own Anne McCollum will give a first hand read out of the GC, which she attended as deputy for the diocese of Oregon.  She will be able to answer questions some of you may have.  


As to the two articles—both are seriously flawed. 


The Wall Street Journal article by Jay Akasie (a self identified but clearly misinformed Episcopalian) in particular made several claims that were patently false, and inferred several things that were highly prejudiced and misleading.  Scott Gunn, Executive Director of Forward Movement, replied to the article and identified most of the patent falsehoods, quoting much of Akasie’s original article.  It is worth reading and is found at the following link:  http://www.sevenwholedays.org/


The Sunday New York Times article by Ross Douthat (a somewhat conservative Roman Catholic) raised the larger question about the decline in liberal Protestant denominations, typified, he believes, by the Episcopal Church.  Douthat’s article at least gets most of its facts straight, but still misses important aspects of the important issues he raises due to his prejudices.  Diana Butler-Bass’s excellent reply to Douthat can be found at the following link: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/diana-butler-bass/can-christianity-be-saved_1_b_1674807.html?utm_hp_ref=religion 


The basic reason that some media people so want to trash the Episcopal Church at this time is that they disapprove of the General Convention’s decision to authorize optional rites for the blessing of same sex unions.  They say that Episcopal Church simply has forsaken the Gospel and Morality and has conformed itself to the world rather than conforming itself to Christ, and as a result will not prosper.  But this view misses the larger point that we Episcopalians have come to these decisions because of the Gospel, not despite it, on account of our reflection on scripture and life in the spirit, not in disregard for these.  


Jon Meachum gives an excellent discussion of the larger issue in the Time Magazine blog.  Here is the link: 
http://ideas.time.com/2012/07/16/god-and-gays/

One more great link on this subject:

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/rev-winnie-varghese/the-glorious-episcopal-church_b_1674981.html?utm_hp_ref=fb&src=sp&comm_ref=false  


See you Sunday.  Peace and Grace.


--Fr. Tony+ 

The Deadly Dinner Party (Proper 10B)

The Deadly Dinner Party

Proper 10B
15 July 2012; 8:00 a.m. Said Mass and 10:00 a.m. Sung Mass

Homily Delivered at Trinity Episcopal Church

Ashland, Oregon

Amos 7:7-15; Psalm 85:8-13; Ephesians 1:3-14; Mark 6:14-29

God, take away our hearts of stone, and give us hearts of flesh. Amen.

I am never completely happy when I have to preach a text from the New Testament where someone named “Herod” shows up.  It’s because there are just too many Herods for most people to keep straight. 

There’s King Herod the Great, named “King of the Jews” by the Roman Senate when he cast in his lot with the rising super power, who orders the massacre of the Innocents in Matthew 2.  For him, there can only be one “King of Jews” and it’s him. 

There’s his son Herod II, who actually never sat on the throne.  He had the Greek name Phillip, and is sometimes called Herod Phillip I or just Herod II.  Here, I’ll just call him Junior.  Herod the Great named him heir after executing two of his older sons by a royal Hasmonean princess he had married on the way to the throne. They had plotted to succeed dear old dad a bit earlier that he intended.  Herod tries to shore up Junior’s claim to the throne by marrying him off to the underage orphaned daughter of one of the sons he had just killed.  You see, she is of Hasmonean royal blood through her mother.  The excuted elder son, in an apparently ultimately unsuccessful effort to curry favor with THE Herod, had even named her after Herod, calling her Herodias. We will be seeing this granddaughter of Herod again today.

Then there’s the other sons.   When the old man actually dies, the Romans send Junior off into early retirement and then split up his kingdom.  “Divide and conquer,” remember?  They give various parts of Herod’s kingdom to his younger sons without calling them kings.

There’s Herod Archelaus who runs Judea.  He is the “other Herod” who takes his father’s place in Jerusalem and about whom the angels warn Joseph and Mary when they come back from Egypt.  Archelaus rules for only a few years until the Romans declare him incompetent, exile him to the South of France, and then turn Judea into a province with a Roman governor. 

There’s Archelaus’ half brother Phillip  the Tetrarch or ruler of a quarter (another Phillip!), sometimes also called Herod, who ruled in what is now Jordan. 

And finally, there is the Herod who appears in today’s Gospel reading.  He is Herod Antipater, ruler of Galilee and Perea from 4 B.C.E. to 29 C.E.

Also called Antipas, he is one of the more interesting historical figures in the New Testament.  For me, he is one of the most “modern” of the characters of the Bible.

Pragmatic, practical, and goal-driven, Antipas makes all of his decisions on the basis on one principle “how does this enhance my enjoyment and get me ahead in the world?”  He follows clearly some tenets of Epicureanism, which said that pursuit of pleasure, rightly understood and properly limited from excess, was the highest good in life.

Antipas early on was low in the line of possible heirs to Herod.  But he did all he could to enhance his royal prospects—he married a Nabatean princess.  Maybe he wouldn’t follow his father as “King of the Jews,” but he could end up as “King of the Nabateans” next door if he played his cards right. 

But then the older brothers are executed and he is closer to that title “King of the Jews.”   That is the real reason he seduces his brother’s wife Herodias.  She is beautiful and desirable, but more important, she is Hasmonean royalty, having the blood of Judas Macchabeus in her veins through her mother.  Working seduction herself, Herodias insists that Antipas first divorce his Nabatean wife.  For Herodias the marriage with Antipas is a step back onto the fast track of the social escalator.  Herod Junior was already out to pasture with no prospects; Antipas was still a man with a future.

Again, Antipas’ and Herodias’ marriage reflects their values: a pragmatic enhancement of their political power and prospects, and pleasurable at the same time.  What harm is there in that? 

But the prophet John the Baptist objects.  He is preaching and baptizing in Perea, the smaller of Antipas’ fiefs.   John says the marriage violates Torah commandments against corrupting family relationships by having sexual relations with the spouse of a living sibling.  It is incest, and John calls it this.  Like Amos, John holds up a plumb line and says what is straight and what is crooked.

Josephus says that Antipas feared the Baptist because he had grown to have too much popular support, and thus posed a threat to Antipas’ political power.  A popular prophet is always inconvenient, always a political threat. Antipas has John locked up to separate him from his audiences, and then after while executes him. 

We read in Josephus’s Jewish history that Antipas’ ex-wife returns humiliated and shamed to her father’s palace in Nabatea.  A war ensues, and Antipas loses.  He would have lost his rule as well, but the Romans intervene.   Josephus says that the war was Antipas’ punishment for executing John.

Mark tells the story a little differently.  His story is probably based on popular rumor and speculation not unlike tabloid celebrity fever today.  The tale of the hootchy-cootchy dance, the drunken promise and the beheading of John does not give the political reasons for the execution that historian Josephus tells.  Mark’s tale here has, unfortunately, a bit of a cherchez la femme edge to it--Antipas is weak, Herodias is strong, and ultimately her jealous conniving forces Antipas to murder John. Tabloid stuff indeed. 

But Mark also adds the telling detail that Antipas did not want to execute John because “he enjoyed listening to him.”   This fits elements of Antipas’ character that we see elsewhere in the Gospels. 

Once, people in Galilee warn Jesus that “Herod is plotting to kill him” (Luke 13:31).  Jesus replies bitingly, giving the only personal insult about an individual recorded on the lips of Jesus.  “Go tell that female fox,” he says, “that I’m safe, because prophets seem to be killed only in Jerusalem.”   Jesus thus condemns the very things which drive Antipas—having pleasure and getting ahead.  That fox!   Jesus thus dismisses Antipas’ pragmatism, wits, manipulation, and desire to be amused, to have a good time. 

Later, on Good Friday, Pontius Pilate realizes that Jesus is from Galilee and thinks he might spread the blame of condemning Jesus by sending him to Antipas, who after all is ruler of Galilee.  Luke 23 tells us that Antipas was pleased to meet Jesus, “because he had long desired to see him, because he had heard about him, and he was hoping to see some sign done by him.”  Antipas is still all about having a good time.   Where the Galilean peasantry had sought Jesus and his miracles for healing, for food, and for hope, Antipas sought Jesus and his miracles for amusement. 

 

Jesus, for his part, refuses to even speak even one word to Antipas.  Finally, in order to not have Jesus’ sullenness spoil the party, Antipas has a great idea.  He orders his soldiers to dress Jesus up in what Luke calls “a gorgeous gown” as kind of ironic spoof of this forbidding prophetic figure. They probably use make up on him as well.   And that is how they send Jesus back to Pilate.  Pilate apparently appreciates a good joke as well, for Luke ends the story with “and from that day on, Pilate and Herod remained friends.”  

Antipas’ desire to be titillated is also coupled with a bit of superstition. At the beginning of today’s text, when Antipas first hears of Jesus’ miracles, he’s troubled, because he’s certain that Jesus is “John the Baptist, whom I murdered, come back to life again.” 

So what does this sad and ugly story mean for us?

Mark often makes his point by juxtaposing stories.  He starts here with the story of Antipas’ deadly dinner party, but immediately follows this with the story of Jesus feeding the 5,000.

The party is exclusive:  elite guests, the finest delicacies, amusements and enjoyments, possibly a chance for face time with Antipas, friend of Caesar and aspirant to the title “King of the Jews.”  But Antipas has too much to drink. It ends badly, very badly.  Herod is tricked into making a promise he’d rather not keep.  But he must maintain his image, he must not be put to shame in front of the guests.  To show them just how much in charge he is, how much a party animal he really is, what a good sport he is, he says the word, and the platter with John’s head on it is presented to Herodias in the presence of all.  All shrink back in horror.  He probably thinks, “Now here is a party favor that will be remembered for the ages!”  

The very next story Mark tells is of a different dinner party, one offered by Jesus.  It is not exclusive.  It is in the open, and all are invited.  They go to a desert place, and the crowds follow.  “It’s late, we must send them away for them to buy their dinner,” say the disciples.  Jesus is not interested in sending people away.  He is also not afraid of what the guests might think of him if he does not deliver.  “How many fish and loves do we have?” he asks, “Not many,” they reply.  But then he proceeds to feed all.  No deadly dinner party this.  Just life and love overflowing, inclusive, supporting, and nourishing.   

But those who came to Jesus’ dinner party of life had to abandon what they were doing previously in order to be there.  They also had to provide what little food they had brought and share it for Jesus to work his miracle.  


Antipas was all about self, and all about pleasure and control. His philosophy, his religion, and his power were all tools for pleasure for him. 

What did Jesus find so distasteful in “that fox” Antipas?  Clearly, the fact that he murdered his mentor John the Baptist is key in Jesus' dislike of Antipas.  But he also clearly disapproves of how the man thinks, feels, and relates to others. 

A hint of the core issue is found in Mohandas Gandhi’s succinct description of what he called the seven deadly social sins: 

• Wealth without Work
• Pleasure without Conscience
• Science without Humanity
• Knowledge without Character
• Politics without Principle
• Commerce without Morality
• Worship without Sacrifice

Antipas was the ultimate practitioner of “Boutique Religion,” of choosing a little here that suits you and a little there that strikes your fancy.   His pathological abuse of others is just an extension of this narcissism.   It all is rooted in fear of not gaining power, and the enjoyment of pleasure that power provides, or of losing power and enjoyment once gained. 

The Baptist and Jesus were about sacrifice, and restraint of self.   They wanted true religion, religion of helping the poor, the widowed, the orphaned.  No boutique marketplace of religious fads for them. 

Ultimately, Antipas too fell from Caesar’s grace.  His estranged nephew, another Herod named Agrippa who appears in the book of Acts, was best friends with the Roman Emperor Caligula when he ascended to power.   Agrippa was the only one of the five "other" Herods to actually receive the Roman title "King of the Jews."  He made sure Antipas was relieved of his duties and banished, so Agrippa could reclaim control of Galilee and Perea.  Antipas was also retired, appropriately for such a sabaritic, to the south of France.  Herodias, promised continuing royal perks if she abandoned him, surprisingly choses to accompany him in exile. 

In the coming week, please reflect on where in your life you resemble Antipas.  What sacrifice is God calling you to that you are resisting?  When does your will, your pleasure, your desire for control and security trump the needs of others?    Is status, pleasure, or security inordinate in your life? 

What forms of “boutique religion” do you practice? 

When you come to a greater clarity on this, and you will come to a greater clarity on this if you reflect on it, then pray to have this burden of self lifted, that you be relieved of the fears that beset you.   And then start on the hard work of following Jesus into the desert for his abundant feast for all.  And walk away, just walk away, from the deadly dinner party. 

In the name of Christ, Amen. 

Abide in My Love (Holy Union)

Abide in My Love

Holy Eucharist and Blessing of Holy Union

For Paige Diana Haley and Emily Rae Hutchinson
8 July 2012 1:00 p.m.

St. John the Baptist Episcopal Church

Seattle, Washington

Song of Solomon 2: 10 – 13, 8: 6; Psalm 30; Colossians 3: 12 – 15; John 15:9-14

As the Father loved me, I also have loved you; abide in my love.  If you keep my commandments, you will abide in my love, just as I have kept my Father’s commandments and abide in his love.  These things I have spoken to you, that my joy may remain in you, and that your joy may be full.  This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you.  Greater love has no one than this, than to lay down one’s life for his or her friends. (John 15: 9 – 13).

God, take away our hearts of stone, and give us hearts of flesh.  Amen.

“Abide in my love,” Jesus says to us in the Gospel Reading today. “This is my commandment, that you love one another.” 

It has always struck me as strange to have anyone commanding us to love someone.  How is it possible to command love?  Love on command is a contradiction in terms.
 

Love seems to come into our hearts on its own, unbidden and sometimes unwelcome. 

Christians, recognizing this, have always taught that love comes into our hearts by an act of God.  In the letters of John we read, “In this, then, does love consist: not that we have loved God, but that He first loved us.”  Gratitude for love first given us is the wellspring of our own love.

“Abide in my love.” Elsewhere in the Gospel of John Jesus says, “Abide in me, and I in you.”

What does it means, “abide in love,” or “abide in Christ?”  Go in pilgrimage to a Holy Place? Seek a monastery and a life of seclusion? Work for social justice and end poverty?  Perhaps, if these are what God places in your heart. But “abide in me, in my love” means more.    

The verb translated as “abide” here, meno, simply means to be present, and to continue to be present.  What Jesus is talking about is not place, but presence.  Not location, but vocation. Not activity, but attentiveness.  Not sentiment, but sentience. 

Jesus is talking about being present to God in our midst, to love in our lives, to those we love. 

Vietnamese Buddhist monk Thich Nhat Hanh discusses what it means to be present:  attentiveness, responsiveness, and openness.  Having an eye that sees, an ear that hears, and a heart that feels.

Accepting who you are, learning authenticity and integrity in being that person, knowing your limitations and strengths, all these are a prerequisite to being present to anyone else.

“Abide in my love … love one another as I have loved you.” 

Jesus here is talking about a genuine love, where one is present to the beloved.  He is not talking about the mess of emotions we often confuse with love, those goal-oriented and self-absorbed affections and desires that seek to change the beloved and conform her to our will. 

Thich Nhat Hanh says, “If our love is only a will to possess, it is not love. We must look deeply in order to see and understand the needs of the person we love. This is the ground of real love.”

Thomas Merton writes, “The beginning of love is to let those we love be perfectly themselves, and not to twist them to fit our own image.  Otherwise we love only the reflection of ourselves we find in them” (No Man is an Island).   

Abiding love means sincerity and truth in feelings, consistency in actions regardless of feelings, integrity in our relationships, and of being honest about our own needs and those of the beloved.   It’s why we discourage two people who are not self-aware from getting married prematurely.  We encourage counseling to develop self-awareness and mutual attentiveness.  

This process of counseling and preparing for marriage is very similar to the process of discernment for religious vocations, where you and your community seek God’s guidance and the self-awareness to recognize, in the words of Presbyterian theologian Frederick Beuchner, where your deepest joy meets the world’s deepest need. 

That is why I am so very glad to be here today, celebrating this Holy Union, this marriage of you two, my dear daughters.  Both of you know yourselves well and honestly recognize that this public joining together in love and commitment is the path you both are called to by God speaking in your hearts, despite the disapproval of some bigots, including some self-styled religious. 

I am thankful that the Episcopal Church has followed God’s call in blessing and honoring such unions as yours, such love as yours, thankful that St. John the Baptist Parish, Father Greg, and Bishop Rickle have been so welcoming for this celebration.  I am thankful that my own Trinity Parish in Ashland cheered last week when I announced what I would be doing this Sunday. 

I am thankful for all this because love comes from God.  Your love comes from God. 

St. Irenaeus of Lyons famously said, “The glory of God is the human being made fully alive.”  God made us for joy, for full life, and for love.  Anything less is a detraction, a departure, a diminishing of God’s intent. 

May you find the full joy of growing old together and raising a family.  It is one of the sweet blessings of our life, even with all its costs and occasional pain.  And it is sweeter, and less painful, when we are present for each other.  

Abide in this love God has given you.  Be attentive to each other.  Recognize when the beloved needs more space.  Listen and watch.  Be true to the beautiful image of God left in you when you were created.  Look to see it in each other.  When tiredness or annoyance rob you of attentiveness and being present, don’t beat up on yourselves, but simply act as if you still had them.  They will return.  Share your joys and sorrows with each other.   When things go wrong, ask each other for forgiveness and forgive each other, again and again.   Be present for each other.  And share that being present with others, whether children you welcome into your family together, or guests, friends, family, and neighbors. 

Abide in this love.  Be present. 

In the name of Christ, Amen.