St. Ambrose's Penitential Prayer (Mid-week Message)

St. Ambrose’s Penitential Prayer

St. Ambrose was bishop of Milan, Italy in the fourth century.  It was he who taught and converted St. Augustine.  One of the plainchant tones of the Church is named after him (Ambrosian chant) because he codified and simplified chant singing.  (Gregorian chant is named after Pope Gregory, who thought that Ambrose had a good idea and then set rules for chanting for the whole western church, not just Milan).    Ambrose is the author of the several hymns known and loved to this day.  Here is one of his penitential prayers.  It makes reference to the same passage from Ezekiel that I use as a prayer to start my homilies:  “I will take away your hearts of stone, and I will give you hearts of flesh” (Ezekiel 36:26).

Lord, you have mercy upon all.
Take away from me my sins,
and mercifully kindle in me
the fire of your Holy Spirit.
Take away from me this heart of stone,
and give me a heart of flesh,
a heart to love and adore you,
a heart to delight in you,
to follow and enjoy you, for Christ's sake, Amen. 

NOTE:  Remember that this Saturday at 7 pm, we will be celebrating one of the Church’s most beautiful and moving liturgies, Candlemas.  Its procession and blessings honor the presentation of our Lord in the Temple 40 days after his birth.  It is a celebration of light and coming spring.  Forty days after Christmas, it brings to a beautiful end the whole Advent, Christmas, and Epiphany liturgical cycle. 

Grace and Peace,

Fr. Tony+

Ain't that Good News (Epiphany C3)

Ain’t that Good News?
Homily delivered for the Third Sunday after Epiphany (Year C)

The Rev. Dr. Anthony Hutchinson
27 January 2013

8:00 a.m. Said and 10:00 a.m. Sung Eucharist
Trinity Episcopal Church

Ashland, Oregon

Nehemiah 8:1-3, 5-6, 8-10; Ps 19; 1 Corinthians 12:12-31a; Luke 4:14-21

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

I was waiting along with several other people in the anteroom of a courtroom in Medford several weeks ago to attend a trial involving two people I had ministered to here at Trinity.  I wanted to show solidarity and support to both of them, and was wearing my clerical collar.  A couple of times, people coming from the other courtrooms, on seeing my priestly garb in this secular Temple of Justice, dropped their jaws, shocked or surprised, and then quickly covered their astonishment with a vague look out the windows or across the room.   Once they were out of earshot, one of the people sitting with me asked, “Do you often get that when you dress like this?”  “Not so much the look of shock.  Sometimes people on the street are just more willing to approach me, to ask for directions, say, engage in small talk, or volunteer out of the blue that they are ‘spiritual but not religious.’  Once in Hong Kong, an absolute stranger saw the collar, got very angry and spit in my face, muttering something about child molesters.  But this look of surprise is new for me, and I wonder what those people are thinking when they see (pulling at the collar) this (indicating court) here.”  “Oh, I can tell you that,” replied one of the people waiting with me, “’cuz it’s what I think when I see it: judgment, of being examined and being found wanting: Condemnation.  What are we supposed to think when we see it?”   I paused.  “Well I kind of hoped that you would see in it the meaning I have when I put it on.  It’s a sign of God’s love, and support.  It’s a sign that God’s kingdom is here and open for business, declaring reconciliation.  Declaring God’s forgiveness and love is a priest’s main job.  That’s all this collar means for me.” The reply came quickly, “Most of us, though, are used to being condemned by the Church, and so I think that’s what we expect.” 

Today’s scriptures all in one way or another talk about our perceptions about God stuff, and the contrast between fear of just condemnation or anger at unjust condemnation and joy and gratitude at God’s love.

In the Hebrew scripture reading, the scribe Ezra reads the book of the Law before the people who react by bursting into weeping, totally dismayed at its severity. The leaders react with a pretty heavy-handed effort at spin control—no weeping or mourning allowed, only feasting and sharing that feasting with the poor, because “LAW IS GOOD” no matter what! 

The Psalm says that we can learn much about God in looking at the beautiful and wondrous stars and planets in the skies above us, as well as by reading the Law, a “perfect” and “sure” teacher that “revives” and “makes wise” the heart by stirring it up to “fear” and prayers that our words and thoughts be acceptable to the God thus revealed. 

The Gospel reading is Luke’s portrayal of Jesus’ first public sermon. He reads from the prophet Isaiah, like Ezra reading from the book of the Law.   But importantly, he picks and chooses what he reads.  He quotes from Isaiah 61, beginning

“The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because

he has anointed me

to bring good news to the poor.

He has sent me

to proclaim release to the captives

and recovery of sight to the blind,” 

So far, so good, at least in the translation of Isaiah that Luke is using in writing up the scene.  But then, instead of the next line, “to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor and the day of vengeance of our God,” Jesus ends the reading by throwing in a line from another part of Isaiah (58:6) and saying: 

“to send out into freedom those once downtrodden,

to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor.”

He deliberately deletes Second Isaiah’s reference to “the Day of Vengeance of our God” and replaces it with a line from Second Isaiah’s great song about what true worship is:

“Is not this the fast that I choose:
    to loose the bonds of injustice,
    to undo the thongs of the yoke,
to send out into freedom those once downtrodden,
    and to break every yoke?
Is it not to share your bread with the hungry,
    and bring the homeless poor into your house;
when you see the naked, to cover them,
    and not to hide yourself from your own kin?”

 (Isaiah 56:5-7)

Jesus applies this doctored passage to himself, and thus announces his mission.    By deleting the reference to the Day of Vengeance, Jesus marks a distinction between his message of Good News, hope and forgiveness, with John the Baptist’s more fear-inducing focus on the need to repent before the coming Day of Doom.    Jesus is to break the bonds, and then send out those who were once downtrodden into freedom, as sent ones, or apostles, with his message of liberation to others. 

We will read of the congregation’s reaction to Jesus’ sermon next week.  But the bit of the story we read today tells us that Jesus’ mission is to bring joy not fear, hope not despair. Jesus’ ministry and message was and is one of joyous gratitude, one of Good News. 

Clearly, my friend in the court anteroom saw the Christian message as one of condemnation and judgment. 

I believe that the main reason for the last two decades’ great increase of the “nones”—those without religious affiliation or declared faith—among Americans 30 and under lies in the fact that for most people, what many Christian Churches preach and proclaim just is not good news.  It’s bad news.    It’s a message that you don’t measure up, that you need to shape up or ship out, that even if Jesus wants to love you, you are simply not worthy, too bad, and not up to snuff.  God with a capital G really is annoyed with you, and especially with the fact that you don’t feel properly convicted of your evil ways.  The things that give you pleasure and joy are all forbidden, you yourself are deficient and hopeless, and only by throwing yourself at the mercy of the Church, with its abusive hierarchs, hypocritical congregations, pointing fingers, demands for mindless submission and faith, and constant demands for money and time, you might be able, just possibly, to gain a bit of favor from the overarching, homophobic, woman-hating, sex-hating, drink-loathing, KILLJOY IN THE SKY.  

But what is needed is to understand that Jesus’ message is a message of GOOD NEWS, no matter where you are. 

I used to sing my children to sleep by singing lullabies and African-American Spirituals.  One of their favorites was this: 

I got shoes in that kingdom, ain’t that good news?  (repeat)

I’m gonna lay down my troubles, and shoulder up my cross,

Good God, I’m gonna bear it home

to my Jesus,

Now ain’t that good news? 

The other verses followed suit:  “I got a robe in that kingdom,” “I got a house in that kingdom.”  “I got a crown in that kingdom.”

The point is that in Jesus, we have a promise for what we need, even things like shoes, shelter, and food.  We have a blessing in him to receive the true desire of our hearts.  It doesn’t mean that all we think we may want is right, or that he has promised bad things for us because we in our brokenness want the wrong things. But it does mean his coming is good news, not bad.  

This is not good news just about the afterlife.    It is about our lives here and now, about who we are here and now.  It is about liberation from what binds us, what keeps us back, what holds us down, both individually and communally.   Liberation from addictions, obsessions, fears, and vicious habits.  Healing from illness.  Jesus went out from that sermon and healed people here and now, and called them to help each other here and now.    Luke says this is the heart of Christian mission, since Jesus sends out free those who were once held captive, once down-trodden. 

The Christian doctrine of Salvation, as I said a few weeks ago, is a far broader concept than “transferred Karmic payback for my sins.”  It is being rescued from anything and everything that is the matter. 

And different things are “the matter” for different people.  So “Good News” can mean different things to different people.  And yet Jesus is proclaimer of Good News to all, of healing to all, of liberation to all, of deliverance to all.   

That is the gist of today’s epistle reading.  Paul likens us to a body with all sorts of different body parts.   The very diversity of the body’s different parts is a good thing, and makes the body strong.   One size does not fit all.  And if it pretends to, it fits no one.    Paul calls on us to get along, and to value and respect—even honor—diversity. 

One of the great glories of the Anglican tradition is that we value diversity.  Historically, we are a broad tent, and include both very evangelically-minded protestants as well as sacramentally-minded catholics (with a small “c”).  We include liberals as well as conservatives, and have—and should have—a wide range of worship styles.  And we try to do this without reducing our common prayer and worship to simply the lowest common denominator, to some stripped-down form that is not too offensive to anyone.    Recent divisions in the Church over sexual ethics and the nature of the authority of scripture and tradition has seen some leave our midst, and that is regrettable.   As St. Paul in this passage notes, the key here in healthy community life in the Church is grounding ourselves in Christ.  It demands not just toleration—holding our noses and putting up with others’ habits and ideas that are not so attractive to us—but also truly honoring and welcoming the differences. 

Let us focus on being heralds of Good News—of liberation, healing, reconciliation, and love.   Let us work to set the captives free and break every chain that ties us down and holds us back.  Let us honor and respect all our fellow human beings, and especially each other here in the parish, and embrace the glorious diversity that God created us for. 

In the Name of God, Amen.

Blessings "R" Us (Mid-week Message)

Blessings "R" Us

Last Sunday at the 10 a.m. service, I was able to give a blessing to one parishioner who was to start Student Teaching.  She had asked for a special blessing, including the sprinkling of holy water on her teaching plans, because she was nervous about this new major departure in her life.   I believe she had seen the blessing last year of a walking stick for another parishioner before she went on pilgrimage to walk the Camino del Santiago del Compostela.   Or she may have heard of the blessing of a house site of other parishioners when ground was broken last year in the Aleph Spring development near the Havurah. 

We have blessings and prayers for just about anything.  But sometimes we assume that what concerns us or worries us is not worthy of a prayer or a blessing.  And sometimes we forget to ask. 

I gave last rites yesterday to two family members of parishioners.  In one case, the parishioner had suffered a great deal in addition to her grief because she had been forced by circumstances to make the hard decision to instruct physicians to stop curative and begin palliative care, a decision that often feels like you have made the call to starve your loved one to death.     She was very happy that I had visited the loved one, but surprised to find that in fact we have a rite, and a series of prayers and blessings, for families who, for a variety of reasons involving advance directives, quality of life and medical cost issues, and ethical obligations, must stop medical care for their loved ones.    I am sure she would have found great solace in having the rite and prayers help her as she and the family came to their decision and implemented it. 

So here’s a reminder for all parishioners:  in addition to regular anointing for the sick, we Episcopalians have a whole raft of prayers, blessings, and rites for a wide variety of life circumstances, all aimed at helping us get through them O.K. and with God’s blessing.  We have:  house blessings; blessings for new jobs, enterprises, or school terms; blessings for engagements, adoptions, pregnancies, or becoming a caregiver; prayers for when medical care is stopped; pet burials; rites to end relationships amicably; blessings for tools, devotional objects, or musical instruments; a grieving rite after a stillbirth or miscarriage; blessing and prayers for degenerative illness or dementia; a rite of blessing for and commitment to a rule of life.  The list goes on and on.  There is even an exorcism rite, but that is under the purview of the Bishop!   (Some who feel a need in this direction have found more everyday rites helpful, using Holy Water from the Trinity baptismal font, which is blessed according to the traditional rite).   

The point here is not superstitious or magical thinking, but rather a sacramental view of life that sees in the use of symbols and ritual a way to process our deep feelings and get in closer contact with the Divine. 

If you are facing something where you feel might need a little help, think about asking for a special blessing or rite.  Sometimes we do it in Church, but often it can be done in my office or your home.  I can provide texts of rites you might want to use on your own if you or others involved don’t want the assistance of a priest.   Trinity’s assisting clergy has a long record of also assisting in this way. 

Grace and Peace,

Fr. Tony+ 

The Good Stuff (Epiphany C2)

 

The Good Stuff
Homily delivered for the Second Sunday after Epiphany (Year C)
20 January 2013

8:00 a.m. Said and 10:00 a.m. Sung Eucharist
Trinity Episcopal Church

Ashland, Oregon

Isaiah 62:1-5 ; Psalm 36:5-10 ; 1 Corinthians 12:1-11 ; John 2:1-11

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

When I was a boy, we would travel to my Grandmother and Grandfather’s house in Idaho about once every year or so. There, we would eat wonderful homemade meals that were not common in my mother’s home.  My mother worked outside the home, and had learned to simplify her cooking in the 1950s and early 60s by using processed foods like Bisquick, Campbell’s Cream of Mushroom Soup, and even Cheez Whiz or Velveeta in her day-to-day cooking, often using recipes that included brand-name items as a way of product promotion.   Not so in my Grandmother’s House.  There, they raised most what they ate in their large garden, and “put up,” as they said, much of their garden produce for use in the winter.   I remember the first time I ever tasted real ketchup.  It came out of one of the white glass bottles that my Grandma used to preserve homemade ketchup, steak sauce, and chutney.  I was shocked.  It tasted nothing like the Heinz 57 Ketchup I was used to.  This was too tart and tomatoey, with a lot of fresh vegetable overtones.  I wondered to myself how my Grandparents could stand such stuff, a weak imitation of the real thing, all because they were so poor to buy real ketchup in a grocery store!  It was only years later that I realized that my Grandma’s ketchup was far better than any commercially produced stuff, and in fact, was the real thing.  Heinz and Del Monte were the cheap imitations.  

Today’s Gospel reading from John tells the story of the first sign of Jesus’ glory:  at a wedding at Cana, Jesus simply says the word and turns 180 gallons of water stored in jars for purification rites into wine.   There is an interesting detail near the end of the story.  The steward, after tasting the wine calls the bridegroom and says, "Everyone serves the good wine first, and then the cheap stuff after everyone has become drunk and can no longer tell the difference.  But you kept the good stuff until now."  The point is that the wine miraculously made by Jesus is better than any other wine, wine produced by the more pedestrian miracle of sunshine, water, grapevines, skill, and time.   The wine Jesus offers is “the good stuff;” all other wine, the cheap imitation.

More than the other three Gospels, John tells the story of Jesus wholly from the point of view of his disciples after they had seen him die and then come forth once again more fully alive after Easter. John puts the insights of this later post-Easter faith right into all the details of the stories and words on the lips of Jesus in his Gospel.

The author of John is very up front in telling us his purpose: "...these things are written so that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through faith in him you may have life” (20:31).

The Johannine Jesus is revealed to the reader through a series of marvelous acts: turning water to wine (2:1-12), healing the royal official’s son and then the paralytic (4:46-5:18), multiplying the loaves and fishes (6:1-16), walking on the sea (6:16-21), curing the man born blind (9:1-40), raising Lazarus from the dead (11:1-44), and finally coming forth alive again after his death by crucifixion. John does not call these things miracles. He calls them signs, or pointers to the true meaning of Jesus. The word he uses is semeia—the word where we get the word semiotics, or the study of meanings.

John sees these acts of power not just as evidence that Jesus is God’s chosen One. Rather, for him they indicate—they point to, they serve as symbols for and participate in—the mystery that John sees as the reality of God in Christ.

Interspersed between these signs in the narrative are speeches or dialogues that make John’s meaning explicit. 

The multiplication of loaves story is followed by the great discourse where Jesus says, “I am the bread that gives life.”

Meeting the Samaritan woman at the well of Jacob in chapter 4, Jesus says “whoever drinks the water I shall give will never thirst; the water I shall give will become in him a spring of water welling up.”   In chapter 7, on the last day of the feast of Tabernacles, he says, “Let anyone who thirsts come to me and drink.  Whoever has faith in me, as scripture says: ‘Rivers of living water will flow from within him.’”

In chapter 8, probably at the Feast of Hannukah when the candles of the Feast of Lights are being lit (cf. 10:22), and again in chapter 9 just before he cures the man born blind, Jesus says, “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will not walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.”

In chapter 10, after an argument with the leaders of the people who persecute the man born blind who has been healed, he says, “I am the gate for the sheep. . . . I am the gate. Whoever enters through me will be saved, and will come in and go out and find pasture… I am the good shepherd. A good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep.”

In the final sign of Gospel before the passion, just before Jesus raises Lazarus from the dead, he says in chapter 11, “I am the resurrection and the life; whoever has faith in me, even if he dies, will live, and everyone who lives and has faith in me will never die.”

Here in chapter 2, Jesus as his first sign makes wine from water at a wedding. Later, in his last discourse before the passion, Jesus in chapter 15 says that he is the source of God’s wine: “I am the true vine, and my Father is the vine grower. . . . Remain in me, as I remain in you. Just as a branch cannot bear fruit on its own unless it remains on the vine, so neither can you unless you remain in me. I am the vine, you are the branches. Whoever remains in me and I in him will bear much fruit, because without me you can do nothing.”

The signs, symbols, and images are rich and varied, but all point to one reality, one truth: Jesus as God Incarnate, the ultimate measure by which all things must be seen.   Bread, Wine, Vine, Water, Light, even Life—all these are good, very good indeed.  But they are mere hints of the real thing, the really good stuff. 

As I was driving back from Diocesan Council retreat in Corbett yesterday, I saw again and again the beauty of the world.   Just outside of Cottage Grove, as the sun began its late afternoon decline toward the western horizon, there was dense fog that had settled in the valleys and on the mountains south of the Willamette Valley.  But it was intermittent, so there were spots of brilliant azure, almost aquamarine, sky, and the fog and clouds were lit by the oblique sunlight, and glowed brilliant white and sparkling greyish blue.  Faded, washed out black mountains and hills, all bristling with pines, cedars, and madrones, would appear vaguely in the glowing mist.  The beauty was so great that I caught my breath several times at these views as they appeared, and wept in joy at a couple.

There is joy, beauty, and wonder in our lives.  There are many, many good--no, make that great--things.   But we can be beaten down at times by the hard things:  Money problems, relationship stresses, work stress and fear of failure, illness, mourning, the pain and fear of advancing age.     It is easy at times to lose sight of the beauty. 

Recognizing the beauty behind and in all things is key to a sacramental theology of life.   It lies at the roots of the faith whereby we see in outward signs the inward reality of grace, that what we eat at the Holy Table is indeed the body and blood of Christ.  It is why we sense we are in holy ground when we smell incense and perceive it as a sign of grace, a fragrant remembrance of sacred things offered to God.  It is why a worker at our homeless shelter could say she had seen the face of Jesus in the face of one of our guests. 

What John is saying in all these stories of signs and discourses on Jesus being true light, wine, water, bread—is this: as good as the good things in our mixed lives can be, Jesus is the truly “good stuff.”   No matter how sweet, beautiful, and wonderful something in our lives may be, it is a mere hint, a dim reflection of what God truly has in store for us, of who Jesus is.
C.S. Lewis tells a story from his own youth about the contrast between “the real thing” and poor substitutes:  stealing cigarettes from his father’s stash.  Occasionally when the cigarettes were so few that even one might be missed, he dipped into his father’s plentiful cigar stash, which he kept only for honored guests.  He says that when this occurred, he and a friend thought “poor us, today we’ll have to put up with cigars when we might have had cigarettes!”    Again, if the only thing we know is a weak imitation, or a distorted shadow, when we actually run into the real thing we may think it strange, and perhaps mark it as the poor substitute. 

Think of the things in your life that truly make you happy.  Think of the things that give you joy, and that take your breath away or make you weep in awe. 

Today’s Gospel, through this sly remark “you left the good stuff till last,” is telling us that these good things, these points of joy like wine at a wedding, these, as wonderful as they are, are just shadows, cheap wine to followed by the really good stuff.

John argues that in Jesus, we find all that we need. Now that is not to belittle other real needs. To say Jesus is the bread of life is not to say that we have no need to work to earn our daily bread, or to help feed the hungry with real bread.   It is simply saying something like Jesus says in Matthew, quoting the Book of Deuteronomy, “A human being does not live by bread alone, but by the word of God.”   

This week, I want you to take some thought about the truly good and wonderful things you enjoy.  Make a gratitude list, if you need to.  And then reflect on what the real thing, the good stuff for each of these might be.    Where in our life are we accepting cheap imitations or pale reflections of and rejecting the real thing?  Where in our lives can we be signs to God’s greater love and care? 

Jesus says, I am true wine, the true bread, the true light, the real water.  I am the vine that gives wine; you are the vine’s branches.  Trust me. Have faith in me.

May we so live, and that each day.

In the Name of God, Amen.

Weeks After Epiphany (Mid-week Message)

Weeks after Epiphany—Green or White?

We are in the midst of the Season after the Feast of the Epiphany.  The altar and clergy were still dressed in the White of Christmastide for the Feast of Epiphany (Jan. 6) and the following Sunday (Jan. 13), the commemoration of the Baptism of our Lord.  In weeks to come, however, we will return to the Green of Ordinary Time before the start of Lent, when penitential Violet is used. 

The readings of this period between Epiphany and Ash Wednesday take up and make explicit the great themes of Epiphany:  the manifestation of God in Jesus Christ, the showing forth of Christ to the world, the shining of True Light in darkness that cannot overwhelm it.  This theme of light begins in the Christmas Day reading of St. John’s Logos hymn, where the light shines in the darkness, continues with the Magi’s star on January 6, and brings the Advent-Christmas-Epiphany cycle to a close on February 2 or Candlemas, which commemorates of the presentation of the baby Jesus in the Temple 40 days after his birth by a Service of Light and the blessing of Church candles on the 40^th day after Christmas.  The theme reappears again just before Lent with the brilliant light of Jesus’ transfigured face on Mt. Tabor. 

Because the date of Easter varies according to how the lunar calendar and new moons match the solar calendar and the Spring Equinox, the season of ordinary time after Epiphany can be as short as three Sundays and as long as eight.  This year, we have five. 

Many Episcopal Churches begin and end the Epiphany season each year with the hymn “Songs of Thankfulness and Praise”:  

Songs of thankfulness and praise,
Jesus, Lord, to thee we raise,
manifested by the star
to the sages from afar;
branch of royal David's stem
in thy birth at Bethlehem;
anthems be to thee addressed,
God in man made manifest.

Manifest at Jordan's stream,
Prophet, Priest and King supreme;
and at Cana, wedding guest,
in thy Godhead manifest;
manifest in power divine,
changing water into wine;
anthems be to thee addressed,
God in man made manifest.

Manifest in making whole
palsied limbs and fainting soul;
manifest in valiant fight,
quelling all the devil's might;
manifest in gracious will,
ever bringing good from ill;
anthems be to thee addressed,
God in man made manifest.

Manifest on mountain height, shining in resplendent light,
Where disciples filled with awe
Thy transfigured glory saw,
When from thence thou leddest them
Steadfast to Jerusalem
Cross and Easter Day attest,
God in man made manifest.

This hymn recounts in order the Gospel lessons for the season, starting with the star and Magi of Epiphany itself, the baptism of Christ, the wedding at Cana, Jesus’ wonderful acts, and finally the glorious light in Jesus’ face on the Mount of Transfiguration on the last Sunday before Ash Wednesday.  The hymn sees all these as evidence of God made manifest in a human being.

It is right to use ordinary time green for this season between Epiphany and Lent, since the Greek word epiphanaeia means manifestation or showing forth, and the whole point is that in Jesus God was shown forth to the whole world, the regular, ordinary world. 

Let us pray. 

Lord God, you were manifested to us in the life of Jesus, one of us in all ways but sin.  Help us show forth your love and beauty in the common, ordinary things of our day-to-day lives.   Through Christ we pray, Amen. 

Peace and Grace,

Fr. Tony+

Solidarity (Epiphany C1)

Solidarity
Homily delivered for the First Sunday after Epiphany (Year C)
13 January 2013

8:00 a.m. Said and 10:00 a.m. Sung Eucharist
Trinity Episcopal Church

Ashland, Oregon

Isaiah 43:1-7; Psalm 29; Acts 8:14-17; Luke 3:15-17, 21-22

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

This summer a new film about the Lone Ranger will be released, with Johnny Depp starring at the mysterious former Texas Ranger’s Indian companion, Tonto.  When I was young, there was a story, probably politically incorrect by today’s standards, about the Lone Ranger and Tonto.  Hostile Indians are riding around them in an ever-tightening circle.  When it is clear the end is near, the Ranger turns to Tonto and says, “What are we to do, Tonto?”  The reply, “What do you mean ‘we,’ pale face?”   

Identity, group affiliation, mutual obligation.   That is what today’s story, the baptism of Christ, is all about. 

The Lectionary includes it for the First Sunday after Epiphany as one of the great signs of “God in Man made Manifest” because of the voice coming from heaven at the end of the reading (Luke 3:21-22).    Note, however, how the Lectionary connects this epiphany to Jesus to us.   Isaiah says: “When you pass through the waters, I will be with you, … Because you are precious in my sight, and honored, and I love you.”  The Psalm says, “The voice of the Lord is upon the waters, … The LORD shall give strength to his people; the LORD shall give his people the blessing of peace.

This story of Jesus being baptized by John clearly embarrassed early Christians. The various Gospels tell the story in different ways as a result.

Mark, the earliest Gospel, says John appeared in the Judean and preached a “baptism of repentance for the remission of sins.” Jesus of Nazareth comes and John baptizes him along with the rest. But when Jesus comes up out of the water, “immediately he saw heaven being torn open and the Spirit descending on him like a dove. And a voice came from heaven.’”

Matthew changes the story in several crucial ways.  He deletes the fact that John’s  baptism was “for repentance.”  He adds a dialogue—John says “I need to be baptized by you, Jesus, not you from me.” Jesus replies that he must be baptized “to fulfill all the demands of righteousness.” Jesus here does not get baptized because he needs his sins to be remitted but rather because of the demands of God’s Law, one of Matthew’s major concerns.

Luke leaves in the fact that John’s baptism is unto repentance and adds a lengthy description of the Baptist’s preaching.  But he avoids mentioning that it was John who baptized Jesus. Here, the opening of heaven, the descent of the dove, and the hearing of God’s voice occurs only after the arrest of John, “when all the people had been baptized and Jesus also had been baptized and was praying.”  Jesus here is simply throwing in his lot with the whole group of other people getting baptized. 

In contrast to Matthew and Luke, who in their separate ways say that Jesus’ getting baptized was not for the remission of sin or a sign of his subordination to the Baptist, the Gospel of John simply deletes Jesus’ getting baptized altogether.  In the prologue of John, the Baptist appears purely as a witness to Light, the word made flesh. John bears witness of the one who is to follow, and identifies him as Jesus. Later, Jesus goes out to Jordan to baptize rather than be baptized (John 3:22-4:3). Though the Baptist is quoted as bearing witness that he saw the spirit descend on Jesus, there is no scene in John’s Gospel of the baptism itself. 

The early Church preserved these stories despite the discomfort it felt about the idea of Jesus receiving John’s baptism of repentance.  This is convincing evidence that the historical Jesus was, in fact, baptized by John, drawn to the Baptist’s message of a living faith in an engaged God who would soon set things right in the world.

The important take away in all of this is what Luke stresses:  that Jesus was showing solidarity with people receiving John’s baptism, and indeed, with us all. 

“Solidarity” means showing your connectedness to others.  It is throwing your lot in with them, showing that you are one of them, that you are part of them and they are part of you.  It is an expression of the idea that “I” am not alone, an independent unity apart from all others.  It means “we are in this together” rather than “everyone for oneself.”  It means we owe it to each other to treat others as we would be treated.

Some people are uncomfortable with expressions of solidarity, because sometimes they can be exclusive or partisan, where our identity as part of a group is expressed as a function of who is not included in the group.

But authentic Christian ethics have always taught that our obligations of special beneficence to those who most have a claim on us, like family, kindred, nation, and co-religionists, should never preclude our obligation of general beneficence, the good that we owe all others because of our shared humanity. 

Blessed Emma, Queen of the Hawaiians who is commemorated on our Episcopal calendars on November 28, tried to serve her people, who had become outcasts and wanderers in their own land, by establishing hospitals and schools for the benefit of native Hawaiians.  But in so doing, she specified that these institutions should never exclude non-Hawaiians.  What she called “the strangers in our midst” were also to be served.

Such “Aloha” is the glue that binds us together.   Solidarity fosters the common good, equal opportunity, fair and reasonable distribution of the fruits of our economic life, equality among people and nations, and peace in the world.  It includes all the other principles and values that are necessary to create and sustain a truly good society.  It is at the heart of what it means to be human, since we humans are essentially social beings, not isolated monads.  It is more than a vague feeling of compassion, common cause, or shallow sympathy.   It is in fact a commitment to our common life, a sign that we accept responsibility for each other. 

Our modern American society is rife with values that work against solidarity:  greed, selfishness, inequality, discrimination, exploitation, oppression, partisanship, putting one’s own well-being, rights, and privileges above the basic needs of others.

For us Christians, the heart of solidarity is the life of Jesus.  Through the incarnation, God is in real solidarity with us and we are in solidarity with God.   By receiving John’s baptism, God-made-flesh showed solidarity with us, with all our limitations, weakness, and sins.  The social teaching of the Baptist and Jesus both stem from profound solidarity.   

One of the reasons we Episcopalians so value Common Prayer, prayer in community and for community, is that it is a primary way we express our solidarity with each other and with all creation. 

The Book of Common Prayer includes several ceremonies and rituals of community: Baptism, the rite of Christian initiation; Confirmation, where we take on as adults the promises made on our behalf when baptized as children; and Reception by one of our bishops as an Episcopalian is another.  Here at Trinity, we also use a supplemental rite from the Book of Occasional Services to welcome people as members of our congregation regardless of their status with any of these other rites of community.   These are all rites of solidarity. 

Here at Trinity Church, we follow Jesus’ practice of open table fellowship and welcome in our weekly celebration of the Lord’s Supper.    Our open welcome to the Lord’s Table is sincere and heart-felt. 

In addition to table fellowship, we also welcome you, encourage you, to make other acts showing your growth in God and solidarity with us and our tradition of prayer and worship.

If you are not baptized, then start the process of preparing.  Show your solidarity with Jesus, who was baptized along with us so very long ago. 

If you have not been confirmed, then start the process of preparing.  Taking on your own vows of baptism, or if baptized as an adult, affirming those vows in the presence of a bishop representing the One, Holy, Catholic and Apostolic Church, is a powerful and deep way of advancing your spirituality and your connection to the tradition that Jesus started.  If you have been both baptized and confirmed in other parts of the tradition, but want a closer connection to and identity with the Episcopal Church, then prepare for reception as an Episcopalian.  If what you experience here week after week is right for you, if the Church’s stance on social issues is right for you—a stance based on our sense of solidarity with God and other people—then you should become an Episcopalian and not just a Member of the Congregation here at Trinity Episcopal Church. 

For you baptized and confirmed Episcopalians, think about preparing for the reaffirmation of baptismal covenants that we will hold during the Easter Vigil. 

This is an open-ended invitation.  You don’t have to take it up right now.  And your welcome at the Table remains full, sincere, and open.  You are always welcome to join the congregation by joining a Trinity Newcomers Class regardless of baptismal or confirmation status.  You are always welcome to participate in Trinity’s whole range of Ministries and works of service and love for each other and the whole community.    Participating in these additional acts of solidarity will only enhance and enrich this.   But it is up to you. 

Bishop Hanley will be visiting Trinity about a month after Easter.  We will be organizing an Inquirers’ Class for people to prepare for baptism at the Easter Vigil on March 30 and then for confirmation or reception during the April 21 Episcopal Visit.  The Class will start the first Sunday of Lent, February 17.   We will be covering such things as the nature of faith, the Creeds, our baptismal covenant, and basic Christian Faith and Episcopal Practice.    My experience is that these classes are among the most spiritually enriching experiences we can have in our lives in the Church. 

Note in today’s Gospel story that when Jesus shows his solidarity with us in a concrete act, God reveals himself.  The dove of peace, the Holy Spirit descends.  The voice of God, a voice of splendor and power, says, “You are my child. I love you.  You make me happy.”  

And so it is for us.

Let us show solidarity with each other, so that we might hear the voice of God, be bathed in God’s light, and hear God say, “You are my child.  I love you.  You make me happy.”

In the Name of God, Amen.