Real Presence (Mid-week Message)

 

Fr. Tony’s Mid-week Message

January 29, 2014

Real Presence

A few months back during the Monday evening Men’s group, one parishioner raised the question for all to discuss: “What does the Eucharist Mean to Me?  How is it that God Comes to Me in the Bread and Wine?”  The discussion was very personal, with no one taking notes or judging anyone else, just as our discussions in Church ought to be always.   Some said they believed in the real presence of Christ in Eucharistic elements, the consecrated bread and wine.   Others said they sensed the real presence of Jesus in the Eucharistic celebration, in the sharing of this memorial meal ordained by our Lord before his death. Some said they sensed Jesus’ presence in the gathering of the faithful itself, the body of Christ in the world. 

I myself see Christ in all of these and do not see them as mutually exclusive.  I see real wisdom in the words of the young Elizabeth I, who affirmed her faith in the Real Presence in the elements while ambiguously declining to over-define the matter.  When queried under threat of possible torture or death as a Protestant heretic by Queen Mary’s inquisitors about her belief regarding the Eucharistic elements, Elizabeth is said to have replied with an affirmation that was later memorialized by John Donne in 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.

 Salvador Dali, Sacrament of the Last Supper 

“What his words did make it,” of course, refers to Jesus’ words of institution at the Last Supper, “This is my body, this is my blood.”   Elizabeth affirmed the real presence while implicitly rejecting receptionism, the belief that the bread and wine remain merely bread and wine but with added symbolism and meaning attributed to them by those consuming them.   But she also declined to endorse either  transubstantiation, the Roman doctrine of the miraculous substitution of the elements’ character as bread and wine with that of the Body and Blood of our Lord, despite visible appearances, or the more Lutheran doctrine of consubstantiation, or the adding of Christ’s Body and Blood to the elements’ character as bread and wine.  We Anglicans, like the Elizabeth and the Eastern Orthodox, have been content to leave the matter undefined, and simply trust Jesus’ words, that the Bread and Wine of Eucharist are indeed somehow the Body and Blood of Christ. 

But there is perhaps a larger issue at stake when we talk about Real Presence.  Franciscan friar Richard Rohr writes the following: 

“The Eucharistic body and blood of Christ is a place we must come to again and again to find our own face, to find our deepest name, and our absolute identity in God. It takes years for this to sink in. It is too big a truth for any one moment, too grand and wonderful for our small hearts and minds.  So we keep eating this mystery that is simultaneously the joy of God and the suffering of God packed into one meal. (Some have seen the body/bread as eating the joy and the blood/wine as drinking the suffering.) All we can really do is to be present ourselves, because we cannot ever rationally understand this. Presence cannot really be explained.  When the two presences meet, Jesus and the soul, then we have what Catholics brilliantly call “the Real Presence.” We did maintain the objective end of the presence from God’s side rather well, but we seldom taught people the subjective way of how to be present themselves! Presence is a relational concept, and both sides must be there, or there is no real presence.” 

May we all be present, truly present, when we come to the altar rail to partake the Body and Blood of our Lord. 

Grace and Peace,

Fr. Tony+

 

George Herbert on Prayer (mid-week message)

George Herbert statue at Salisbury Cathedral

Fr. Tony's Mid-week Message
George Herbert on Prayer

 January 22, 2014

Anglican Priest and Caroline Divine George Herbert wrote the following exquisite poem on prayer, a catena of lapidary images plumbing what prayer is about and how we experience it, for good or ill: 

  Prayer (I)

 Prayer the church's banquet, angel's age,

         God's breath in man returning to his birth,

         The soul in paraphrase, heart in pilgrimage,

  The Christian plummet sounding heav'n and earth

  Engine against th' Almighty, sinner's tow'r,

         Reversed thunder, Christ-side-piercing spear,

         The six-days world transposing in an hour,

  A kind of tune, which all things hear and fear;

  Softness, and peace, and joy, and love, and bliss,

         Exalted manna, gladness of the best,

         Heaven in ordinary, man well drest,

  The milky way, the bird of Paradise,

         Church-bells beyond the stars heard, the soul's blood,

         The land of spices; something understood.

I hope that all of us are remembering to say our prayers. 

  
Grace and peace,

   Fr. Tony+

Lamb of God (Epiphany 2A)

 

Mosaic "Lamb of God," Ravenna, 5th century

Lamb of God
Homily delivered the Second Sunday after Epiphany (Epiphany 2A RCL)

The Rev. Fr. Tony Hutchinson, SCP, Ph.D.
19 January 2014; 8:00 a.m. Said and 10:00 a.m. Sung Eucharist
Parish Church of Trinity, Ashland (Oregon)
Readings:  Isaiah 49:1-7; 1 Corinthians 1:1-9; John 1:29-42; Psalm 40:1-12

God, give us hearts to feel and love,

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

  

Several years ago, I had a conversation with one of my Hebrew teachers, an Israeli Jew, about faith.  He explained that he experienced the holy through identity, being a Jew living in the land his tradition tells him God promised to his people, and through, as he put it, “going through the motions” of being a Jew, saying the prayers, going to Synagogue, keeping, “within reason” as he said, the distinctive practices of his people. 

I told him that the heart of my faith was experiencing a sense of forgiveness of my sins and failings because of what Jesus did for me, suffering and dying on the cross.  Trying to link my faith to something more familiar, perhaps, for him, I said that my sense of relief of having Jesus’ sufferings substitute for the punishment I thought I deserved was like the story of Abraham binding Isaac in Genesis 22.  There, Abraham is told by God to sacrifice his son, and at the last minute an angel stops Abraham’s knife by saying that “God himself will provide a ram for the sacrifice,” and lets Isaac off.  My friend’s response stunned me:  “No, no, no. You’re getting it backward, aren’t you?  In Genesis, Abraham is going to sacrifice his child and God tells him not to.   But you think that God moves from animal sacrifice and sacrifices his child?  And this is a good thing?  You Christians seem to be going in the wrong direction on this one.”

Today’s Gospel reading has John the Baptist declaring about Jesus, “Behold the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world.” 

I think many of us, when we hear those words, think that John is saying that Jesus will be a sacrificial lamb, killed by God to drive away our sins. 

But this understanding is wrong, whether we are talking about what the Baptist may have meant, or how the writer of the Gospel of John understood it. 

To begin with, a lamb was not the first animal that would have come to mind to people of that era who wanted to refer to a sacrifice:  bulls, goats, or doves were far more common as offerings.  The archetypical animal for describing a victim substituted for wrong-doing was a goat, not a lamb.  The scape-goat was driven into the wilderness bearing the sins of others away, rather than a lamb.   The scape-goat was not a sacrifice.  And when sacrifice is talked about, it is not a substituted victim.  It is an offering to God, and a sharing with God.  You put your hand on the sacrifice not to transfer some kind of mystical fluid of sin or guilt, but to identify the offering as yours, to set it apart as yours.  

The only regular use of lamb as an image in common currency in Judaism of that time was the main dish of the Passover meal, but this was not seen so much as a sacrifice but as a joyful sharing in God’s goodness.  The image of the people of God as the flock of God, the sheep of his pasture was similarly common, but again, here the idea is not one of sacrifice, but of being cared for by God and gently, graciously receiving God’s care and guidance. 

Even the image of the Suffering Servant of Yahweh in Isaiah 53:7, often tied by Christians to the idea of a sacrificial lamb, is not about sacrifice.  The Servant suffers injustice without opening his mouth, like a “lamb led to the slaughter, or a sheep silent before its shearers.”   This is not about sacrifice.  It is a metaphor to describe the suffering servant’s silence.

Besides that, both John the Baptist and Jesus seem to have been at odds with the Temple system, following the prophets’ critique of sacrificial ritual.  They may well have agreed with today’s Psalms reading, “In sacrifice and offering you take no pleasure…; Burnt-offering and sin-offering you have not required” (Psalm 40:7-8).

So why would John the Baptist apply the term “Lamb of God” to Jesus?  If indeed this goes back to him and is not simply put onto his lips by the writer of the Fourth Gospel, it would have been a reference to an image in the apocalyptic writings that were wildly popular during his era.  In such traditions, it would refer to a figure at the end of time who comes to set the world right.  But this figure’s focus is not violently punishing the evil-doer and driving away wrong, but rather quiet, peaceful example and teaching.  After all, it is the Lamb of God we’re talking about here, not the Lion of God. 

And what would the image have meant for the writer of the Gospel of John?  Note the exact wording here:  “Behold the Lamb of God, who takes way the sin of the world.”  Sin singular, not sins plural.   What, for the Gospel of John, is the great thing wrong with this world, its sin?  

The Gospel of John focuses on one root sin: ignorance of the living and true God, especially by those who claim to know God.  Jesus, as the Eternal Word of God made flesh, reveals God as God really is—love and light—and after his death sends the Spirit, the Paraclete or Advocate, to continue revealing it.  

In John, the “Sin of the World” is failure to recognize the true character of Jesus, God’s Logos.   In the prologue we read, “The light shines in the darkness and darkness does not overcome it. … He was in the world, … yet the world did not recognize him.  He came to what was his own, but his own did not accept him” (John 1:5-11).  Later in the Gospel, Jesus says, “And when [the Paraclete] comes, he will convict the world of sin … because they do not have faith in me” (John 16:8-11).

Thus, in the Gospel of John, the “Lamb of God who takes away the Sin of the World” is a graphic way of saying “the Revelation of God as gentle and peaceful, a revelation that drives away any misunderstanding we might have about God.” 

Just before promising the Paraclete, Jesus says where violence does come from: the ones who reject him will reject his disciples as well. “An hour is coming when those who kill you will think that by doing so they are offering worship to God.  But they will do this because they have known neither the Father nor me” (John 16:2-3). 

There are several passages in the New Testament, especially in the Letter to the Hebrews, that might lead us to think that the “Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world” is the victim of sacrificial transferred punishment. 

But these texts use the sacrificial system of ancient Judaism as a metaphor or point of comparison to express the salvation they see in Jesus.  Even one of the letters in the later Johannine tradition says, “But if anyone does sin, we have an advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ the righteous; and he is the atoning sacrifice for our sins, and not for ours only but also for the sins of the whole world” (1 John 2:1-2).  In light of the original meaning of the image in John, however, we must beware of understanding such language literally, as if God demands the sacrifice of Jesus.  

I was raised in a tradition that taught that the reason Jesus had to die on the cross was to “pay for our sins.”  God was just.  We all deserved punishment and death. God the Father sent Jesus so that he could take our place and take the punishment for us.  And all we have to do is have faith in Jesus, repent, and follow him.  And then we won’t suffer the punishment for our sins.  

But this understanding of Jesus’ sufferings as transferred punishment to satisfy God’s dignity is a relatively late doctrine in Christian history, only really showing up in the writing of St. Anselm of Canterbury. 

It is, I believe, just plain wrong.  

The early undivided Christian Church never defined its doctrine of the atonement.   The Nicene Creed says that it was "for us and our salvation" that Christ became incarnate and “for our sake” that he was crucified.  But it does not tell us how this was the case.  Just 15 years after Jesus’ death, St. Paul quotes the tradition he had received from earlier Christians: “Christ died for our sins"  (1 Cor 15:1-5), but again, does not tell us what this means.   Paul elsewhere uses more than 15 separate images describing what God accomplished in Jesus, including two borrowed from Temple ritual.  It is clear that they are all metaphors, efforts to describe in limited language an act by God that was essentially one of love and reconciliation, not of vengeance or punishment. 

The myth of redemptive violence is common in our world today.  In movies, we want the good guy to blow away the bad guys and make things right.  In our foreign and military policies, we think that violence, applied in a smart and timely fashion, will fix things.  In our criminal justice, we think that executing a murderer somehow fixes things.   But violence does not fix things, make things right. 

I do not believe that Jesus suffered violent punishment in our stead, to save us from getting it ourselves from an angry, vengeful Deity.   This is a twisted and wrong image, seen through the narrow and distorted lens of human limitation.   Jesus, the peaceful and gentle Lamb of God reveals God’s love, God’s peaceful and gentle intention, and thus drives away our sin of misunderstanding God, of thinking that God demands violence and blood.

The fact is, the “wrath of God” describes more how our relationship with God feels to us when we are alienated from God than it describes God’s heart.   And it is we human beings who tend to think that violence can make things right, not God.  Jesus died because we sinful people killed him.  Our wrong-headed world that thinks that violence can fix things killed him. 

Epiphany reminds us again and again of “God in Man made manifest.”  Jesus’ resurrection shows that his non-violence in the face of horrible violence actually is the face of God.  Love is the face of God.  In this light, our Christian belief that Christ “died for us” on the Cross or “sacrificed himself for us” takes on deep meaning.  The Cross must never become some sick description of a bipolar child-abusing Deity.   When we look at Jesus on the Cross, we see God suffering right along with us, dying along with us.  We are glimpsing from the inside what it looks like when God simply loves us, heals us, and forgives us.   

Behold the Lamb of God, who takes away the Sin of the World.     

Thanks be to God, Amen.    

 Van Eyck, "Adoration of the Lamb" detail, Ghent altarpiece, 13th century 

Thomas Merton on Prayer (Midweek-message)

Fr. Tony’s Mid-week Message

January 15, 2014

A reminder about prayer for us all:

“The great thing is prayer.  Prayer itself.  If you want a life of prayer, the way to get it is by praying.  We were indoctrinated so much into means and ends that we don’t realize that there is a different dimension in the life of prayer.  In technology you have this horizontal progress, where you must start at one point and move to another and then another.  But that is not the way to build a life of prayer.  In prayer we discover what we already have.  You start where you are and you deepen what you already have.  And you realize that you are already there.” 

                  --Trappist Monk and Mystic, Thomas Merton (1915-1968)

                           (from Prayer and Commitment) 

Grace and Peace,

Fr. Tony+

Afloat (Epiphany 1A)

 

Baptism of Christ, Daniel Bonnell

Afloat
Homily delivered the First Sunday after Epiphany (Epiphany 1A RCL)

The Rev. Fr. Tony Hutchinson, SCP, Ph.D.
12 January 2014; 8:00 a.m. Said and 10:00 a.m. Sung Mass
Parish Church of Trinity, Ashland (Oregon)
Readings:  Isaiah 42:1-9; Acts 10:34-43; Matthew 3:13-17; Psalm 29

God, give us hearts to feel and love,

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

When I was very small, our family went on vacation to a warm spring in the Rocky Mountains, and spent an afternoon at a swimming pool there.  I remember very clearly, because I almost died there.  I loved the water.  My family sat on the edge, talking and watching me as I played on the steps going into the shallow end.  On the middle step I could splash and play, and put my face under. But I stepped too far back, off the steps. I took a breath, and sunk down.  Standing as tall as I could, I was about 4 inches short of the surface.  I bounced up and took a breath, and sank again.  I tilted my head back because that was the only way to get air when I bounced up.  I got disoriented, and the only plane that seemed to remain in the world was the surface of the water, there inches above my eyes.   I had not gotten enough air.  I could see my father through the surface, but he was looking at my mother and not at me.  I bounced up again.  Again, not enough air.  I started to panic.  I couldn’t breathe.  I bounced again, gulped, but to no avail.  I looked up just as things started to go dark, when my sister started pointing to me.  My father’s strong hands were at once around my arm, pulling me into the air, sputtering and gasping.  

I went on later to become a competitive swimmer, lifeguard, and swimming instructor.   But that early experience left a mark.  Though I quickly learned to swim, I really did not like being face up in the water. Panic came invariably, whenever I was on my back.

I had a very hard time learning how to float on my back, perfecting it only when I was 14 years old.  All my teachers said, “Oh, but it’s so easy! All you have to do is put your head back and relax!  Let the water hold you up!”  But try as hard as I could, every time I put my head back, it felt like I was falling.   I tensed up and sank, the water rushing up my nose.  I had learned from that earlier experience fear, and the need to be in control.  And to float, I had to learn to relax, stop worrying and projecting my fears, and give up control. 

Today’s Gospel tells us about the baptism of Jesus. Jesus is plunged into the waters of Jordan.  John adapted regular washings to maintain ritual purity from the Torah and used his washing in the flowing waters of Jordan as a symbol for a change in heart that drives away our past failures that separate us from God, “baptism of repentence, for the sending away of sin.”  John’s use of Jordan here instead of a ritual Mikveh was part of the symbolism—just as the waters of Jordan were the last barrier for the Israelite children before the left their wanderings in the desert for the promised land, so also this act of turning to God through water was meant as a definitive milepost on the way of the people to whom John preached his message of social justice and decency. In the Eastern tradition Great Blessing of the Waters we celebrated last week in Lithia Park, when Jesus is baptized in Jordan, the river’s waters turn back in wonder at the humbling of God for our sake, just as they turned back for the returning people of Israel coming out of Egypt. 

Baptism became the rite of Christian initiation, the sign of our start of life in Christ and in the Church.    Early Christians borrowed John’s symbol of full immersion into water as a way of marking and helping along the process of death to past wrong-doing and exploitation and birth to a new life.  Only later was this full symbolism reduced for convenience’ sake to effusion or pouring and the baptism of children introduced as a sign of its importance for all, regardless of capacity.  

The first Christians saw it as a burial in the water.  Paul writes, “Do you not know that all of us who have been baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death? Therefore we have been buried with him by baptism into death, so that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, so we too might walk in newness of life” (Romans 6:3-4).  Paul is imagining being pushed backwards into water, with that feeling of falling, with that feeling of drowning. 

Many different Biblical images describe what baptism seeks to embody: turning back from wrong-doing, surrendering to God, being washed clean, becoming a child, getting married to God, finding a treasure buried in a field and selling everything to buy the field,  being sprinkled with purifying water, new creation, new life, waking up from a deep sleep, coming to one’s senses, regaining eyesight, forgiveness, healing.    

In the Gospel of John, Jesus talks to Nicodemus about a new birth, being born from on high, rather than a death.  He says this new birth is not only “of water” but also “of the spirit,” that is, of God’s breath or the wind.  He adds, “The wind blows where it wills; the breath breathes where it wants.”  

All of these images are about giving up control.  The lesson is learning to let go and let the waters bear you up. 

Learning to relax and give up control, go with flow, accept who we are and what we are presented with—all this is important in spiritual growth.  It is essential in learning to live in the Spirit, and have a sense of serenity and purpose.  It is key if couples are to remain together happily and grow in love, if communities, including churches, are to prosper and grow in their common life, worship, and ministry. 

This does not mean simply giving up and letting yourself go, or letting others exploit or manipulate you.

I had to keep trying to learn to swim.  I had to keep trying to learn to relax, to put myself in the right position, to float on my back. 

It’s hard.  How can I learn to relax?  How can I embrace the thing I fear?  Can anyone breathe underwater?  Can you defy gravity?  How can I achieve the impossible? 

We have to open ourselves to God, trust God fully.  We need to give each other the benefit of the doubt, or better, the benefit of believing.  It is that simple. It is that risky. 

It may feel like drowning until God reaches down and pulls us into the breath of  new life.  Because ultimately, it all comes down to a gift from God. 

What happens when we do learn to let go and let God wash like water over us?  What happens when we let ourselves be borne up on the wind of God? 

We are more sure of the love of God, but less sure of our own formulations about God. 

We are not peevish or annoyed at the unexpected, or the unfamiliar. 

We can look at true horror in the face and not be afraid, still trusting the love of God. 

We stop trying to use rules to limit God or control others.

We love worship more and are less worried about its specifics.

We begin to listen to  God’s Word without prejudgment, without fear.  

We begin to notice God where we least expect Him.  

Our heart is more and more open, and our mind less and less closed.

We love others as we know God loves us.

We do good out of this love, not because it is required, but because it is a joy.

Sisters and Brothers, we are damaged goods, all of us.  We are like the people John the Baptist called to baptism.  We are like Nicodemus coming to Jesus in the night asking how we can be right with God.  We are like the Israelites on the banks of the Jordan, wandering in the desert and desperately seeking a home.   The waters of Jordan are deep and dangerous. 

But on the bank, God appears. God humbles himself, empties himself, not standing on his rights or dignities, and reaching out to us in love, submits to John.   He is baptized with us.  Jesus, God made flesh, shows us the way of how to let go of control.  And the dangerous waters of Jordan take note, stand up, and roll back in awe. 

God made us for a home we have never yet seen, and that we can barely even imagine now. Jesus tells us of that home, and shows us the way there, because he came down from there. He loves us dearly, each and every one.

Jesus not only showed us the way, he is the way.  He accepted and opened himself to the will of his Father, risked all.  He accepted the instruction and authority of the Baptist.  He let himself be covered in Jordan’s flood.  He let himself be borne away on the wind, even to the point of being lifted high upon the cross.  Through this and his glorious coming forth from the grave, he is reaching down to pull us from the deep water.  

In the coming week, I challenge all of us to identify one thing, just one, where we have been insisting on our own way, or demanding at the expense of someone else because it is our right.  A good way of finding it might be tracking down things that make us peevish or deeply annoyed.  Once we have identified it, let us let go of it, just let go.    

Let us all learn to relax as we let ourselves fall back into the mysterious love of God.  Let us lose our lives so that we may find them.   Let’s not struggle as he buries us in the waves and pulls us up again, sputtering, into new breath and life.  Let us allow ourselves to be borne up on his waters and carried away on his wind.

In the name of Christ, Amen.  

 

The Benefit of Believing (Mid-week Message)

 Jesuit Fr. and anthropologist Pierre Teilhard de Chardin during the dig for Peking Man at Zhoukoudian, c. 1925, fifth from left.

Fr. Tony’s Mid-week Message     

January 8, 2014

The Benefit of Believing

We often say we need to give someone the “benefit of the doubt,” meaning that we cut them some slack and act as if we believe them even if we have our doubts.   This is, at best, a minimalist virtue.  Perhaps a better way of thinking, a better virtue to emulate, is giving the “benefit of believing,” actually having a default position of trusting and believing rather than first of all judging and doubting.    Such open-mindedness and open-heartedness is essential to spiritual growth.  Fr. Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, S.J., wrote the following about patience and its importance in a healthy spirituality. 

“Above all, trust in the slow work of God.
We are quite naturally impatient in everything
to reach the end without delay.
We should like to skip the intermediate stages.
We are impatient of being on the way to something
unknown, something new.
And yet it is the law of all progress
that it is made by passing through
some stages of instability—
and that it may take a very long time.

“And so I think it is with you;
your ideas mature gradually—let them grow,
let them shape themselves, without undue haste.
Don’t try to force them on,
as though you could be today what time
(that is to say, grace and circumstances
acting on your own good will)
will make of you tomorrow.

“Only God could say what this new spirit
gradually forming within you will be.
Give Our Lord the benefit of believing
that his hand is leading you,
and accept the anxiety of feeling yourself
in suspense and incomplete.”

Excerpts of Teilhard's Hearts on Fire taken from http://www.ignatianspirituality.com/8078/prayer-of-theilhard-de-chardin/

Grace and Peace,

Fr. Tony+ 

 

Journey to the West (Christmas 2A)

A Journey to the West
Homily delivered Second Sunday of Christmas (Year A RCL TEC)

5 January 2014 8:00 a.m. Said and 10:00 a.m. Sung Eucharist
Parish Church of Trinity Ashland (Oregon)
Readings: Jeremiah 31:7-14; Psalm 84; Ephesians 1:3-6, 15-19a
Matthew 2:1-12
God, give us hearts to feel and love.  Take away our hearts of stone and give us hearts of flesh. Amen.

Several years ago a teacher and I we were discussing the great Chinese epic, The Journey to the West. He remarked: “A big difference between Asian and Western cultures is that in your Western religions, you have to go abroad and spread the Gospel. In our Eastern religions, our greatest duty to go and seek the truth we do not yet have. Your Bible has the missionary, Saint Paul. We have the story of the Chinese monk Xuanzang going on his great Journey to the West to seek and bring back the Buddhist sutras. We are more humble than you.”

I tried to defend the West and Christianity. I cited humility as a virtue for Christians, and mission as rooted in love for others and a desire to share. I mentioned the Christian idea of Pilgrimage, and the Quest for the Holy Grail. But my teacher seemed unconvinced.

“Are those things central? The Journey to the West is a parable about each of us. The pilgrims there represent every type of person. The monk is overly spiritual, naïve, and unable to defend himself against dangers. But he is calm. Zhu Bajie, the pig man, represents those of us too concerned with our bodily pleasures and comforts: totally controlled by his appetites, but able to enjoy unabashedly whatever good may come. Sandy, the handyman bodyguard, represents peasant practical wisdom and working class street smarts: too focused on the task at hand, unaware of the greater goal, but essential in continuing the journey. Sun Wukong, the Monkey King, represents those of us too clever for our own good, whose will and audacity are both our strength and weakness. Too proud and willful, but able to tell a joke in a tight spot and nervy enough to face any new demon on the path.”

He continued, “I am on my Journey to the West. But are you? Do you want to go to strange places far from home, risking all, to gain the treasure of enlightenment?”


Today’s Gospel is Matthew’s story of the strange Persian astrologers arriving in Jerusalem on their own Journey to the West. They seek to honor the child born “King of the Jews,” whose star they have seen rise while they were far off in the East. Matthew, that most Jewish of the four Gospels, uses them to represent the universal importance of God’s Messiah. He sees the inclusion of the gentiles as mysterious, fraught with danger. The Greek word Magoi (Latin: Magi) almost always carries a baggage of Mystery and the Occult; it is where our word “magic” comes from, and probably is best translated as "wizards." The magi’s appearance in Jerusalem tips off Herod of possible political competition, and the Massacre of the Innocents is the result.

Read in the context of the other readings in today’s lectionary, the story focuses on the Magi as religious pilgrims, strangers in a strange land not just bearing gifts, but seeking the greatest treasure of God. These texts tell what pilgrimage is about.

We recited today Psalm 84—a psalm of ascent—a liturgical chant to be sung by pilgrims as they struggle up the grueling hills in the steep Judean countryside to Mount Zion in Jerusalem, where they can worship in the Temple. It tells the right motive for going on pilgrimage: “How dear to me is the place where you dwell, of Yahweh of armies. My very being desires and yearns for Yahweh’s courts. My heart and my flesh rejoice in the God who lives!”

A pilgrimage is not tourism with a religious slant. It is a quest to find God, to find forgiveness, confidence, and oneness. We must leave where we are to set aside our normal lives, including habits of spiritual torpor and sloth. The place we seek is where the veil between us and the spirit world is thinner, a place that demands that we remove our shoes, a place where a bush will burn and yet not be consumed.

The trip is arduous, but worth it. Again, Psalm 84: “Happy are those … whose hearts are set on the pilgrims' way. Though they go through the desert valley they will find it full of springs.” A real pilgrimage is never easy. It will have desert valleys and rough spots. Having a heart set on the pilgrim’s way—remembering the yearning that moved you to set forth, and recalling the holy place you hope to go—means that the trip will be not only endurable, but at times sweet.

There are other ways to express this idea. A popular struggle song during the civil rights movement was “keep your eyes on the prize, hold on, hold on.” In today’s Epistle, Saint Paul prays for a “spirit of wisdom and revelation” allowing us to know God, and keep the “eyes of [our] heart enlightened, that [we] may know the hope to which God” calls us.

The pilgrim journey to God is like the return from annihilation and exile described in today’s Old Testament lesson: “ With weeping they shall come, But with consolations I will lead them back, I will let them walk by brooks of water, in a straight path in which they shall not fall down.”

The fact is, though, that our journey in faith is often not a straight, direct path. Pilgrimage often appears to be a labyrinth, with turnings and twistings. That’s what the pillar of fire and cloud in the exodus story suggests. Wandering in the wilderness, we must not lose sight of the destination, must not become discouraged. Here, we should remember that there are two different kinds of nearness: what C.S. Lewis calls nearness of proximity and nearness of approach.

A hiker in the mountains comes out onto a ledge and sees, there beneath her, the small town where she wants to spend the night. It is only about 500 meters away—straight down. To get there, she must continue on the path, with its switchbacks and gradual descent. At moments, she must actually go farther and farther away from her goal—800 meters, 1400 meters as the crow flies—before the switchback turns. But all the time, she is actually getting closer to her evening resting spot.

The travel with its challenges and its twists and turns will itself change the pilgrims as they follow the path. As they near the goal, their perception of it will change because they have been changed. If this doesn’t happen, it means that something is wrong.

The Magi in today’s Gospel arrive at their intended destination—Jerusalem—only to find out that things are not as they imagined. The king whose star they follow is not on the throne or even a baby at court. They ask for directions from the local tyrant who is on the throne, citing the passages that brought them—probably Isaiah 60’s description of the great light to shine in Jerusalem, and Numbers 22’s description of the great star that would rise from Judah.

Herod asks his scholars where exactly these passages predict the birth will occur. They reply that the passages are silent on this. He demands, "Well, do you have a better text?" They answer with hesitation by citing Micah 5:2-4: “But you, O Bethlehem of Ephrathah . . . from you shall come forth for me one who is to rule in Israel, whose origin is from of old . . . he shall shepherd Israel.” The Magi thus discover that they are nine miles off track. It is Bethlehem, village of shepherds and the poor, rather than Jerusalem, city of the rich and powerful, where they are actually headed. But despite the change in understanding and reorientation, not only in destination but of the nature of the king they are seeking, their hearts remain set on the pilgrim’s way. They keep their eyes on the prize, and continue on.


Joan Puls in glorious little book Every Bush is Burning describes the encounter with the strange this way: “We live limited lives until we 'cross over' into the concrete world of another country, another culture, another tradition ... I have left forever a small world to live with the tensions and the tender mercies of God's larger family.”

My teacher’s question still echoes, “I am on my Journey to the West. But are you? Do you want to go on a journey into strange places far from home, risking all, to gain the treasure of truth?”

As we prepare for the new calendar year, I pray that all of us will take time to think of what we need to do to re-energize our spiritual life: new or renewed disciplines of prayer, meditation—perhaps walking the labyrinth or even going on a real pilgrimage; perhaps more study, service, or more vigorous efforts at performing the corporeal acts of mercy—visiting the sick, feeding and clothing the poor, defending the oppressed. This is not so that we can earn something from God, but rather that we better learn how to accept his grace. May our hearts be set on the pilgrim’s way.

In the Name of God, Amen

Great Blessing of the Waters (modern adaptation of rite)

 

Rite for the Great Blessing of the Waters

Celebrated by Trinity Episcopal Church
& the Ashland Youth Collective

Ashland, Oregon

Epiphany 2014

--The Rev. Fr. Anthony Hutchinson, SCP, Ph.D.

The Great Blessing of the Waters is celebrated in the Eastern tradition after the vespers divine liturgy on the eve of the feast of the Epiphany [Theophany], and after the Eucharistic liturgy on the feast day itself.   It begins with the chanting of special hymns with the incensing of the water, and concludes with bible readings, petitions and prayers.

Celebrant:

Today we bless God for the waters,

The good gift that brings life and joy,

And which God has used in diverse ways

To bless us, give us life, and make us and God’s whole creation holy. 

Celebrant: 

A Reading from the Gospel of St. Mark

At that time Jesus came from Nazareth in Galilee and was baptized by John in the Jordan. Just as Jesus was coming up out of the water, he saw heaven being torn open and the Spirit descending on him like a dove.  And a voice came from heaven: “You are my Son, whom I love; with you I am well pleased.” (1:9-11)

Hear what the Spirit  is saying to God’s People.

All:  Thanks be to God. 

Celebrant:  Let us walk together with Jesus to the Waters. 

ALL (sung to Bunesson "Morning has Broken"; as the group processes to the water’s side):

Jordan bursts forth and turns back her water

When she beholds our Jesus draw near,

He asks John for washing, sign for a new- heart, 

Though he has no fault or sin to fear.

 
“Prepare now God’s highway,” was John’s- loud witness,
And you came, Jesus, and answered his call,

Humbled before him, though you were spot-less,

Doing this for us, as you did all. 

 
The wa-ters saw it and fell back in wonder.
The heav’ns split and God’s- breath- rushed down

John- fell silent, hearing it thun-der,

“This is my one child, the loved one, my own.”

Sanctify, Jesus, both us and the waters,

Fount- of all Life, Source of all Light.

Bring all refreshment, restore us to goodness,

Return all to Eden’s blissful delight. 

(At the waters’ side:)

Reader:

A reading from the Gospel of John: 

“God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, that everyone who trusts in him might not perish, but have everlasting life.  God did not send his Son into the world to condemn it, but that it might be saved through Him” (John 3:16-17)  Hear what the Spirit is saying to God’s People.

All:  Thanks be to God.

Celebrant:

God sent his child Jesus not to condemn, but to save.  Jesus came not only to save our souls, but to save our bodies, and not only to save human beings, but to save all of creation. 

Blessed are You, O God. 

Your works are full of wonder.

No words can sing truly Your grace. 

Of Your own will You brought all things into being,

By Your love You uphold all of creation,

By Your care You set the universe in order.

And it is good, very good.

All:

In You we live, and move, and have our being. 

Celebrant:   

The sun sings to You,

the moon glorifies You,

the stars dance together before Your face,

the light obeys You,

the rainbows fall at your feet,

the deep shudders before You,

the waters spring up to serve You. 

All:

In You we live, and move, and have our being. 

Celebrant:

We confess Your grace,

We proclaim Your mercy,

We give thanks for Your acts of loving kindness and power.

In becoming flesh, You have set free our mortal nature.

By Your birth You made holy the Blessed Virgin Mary, your Mother, 

And made possible for all creation a way of returning to your bliss. 

All creation praises You,

Who have so manifested Yourself in our world among us. 

All:

You took on flesh and dwelt as one of us.

Celebrant: 

(Censing the water)

For You, our God, appeared upon earth and lived as one of us.

(Placing a cross in the water and withdrawing it)

You sanctified the Jordan by being baptized in it.

(Making the sign of the cross three times over the water)

Therefore, O Master,

+ be present here now by the descent of the Holy Spirit,

         and sanctify this water.

+Give it the blessing of Jordan.

Make it a fountain of health and life,

Bringing verdure to the desert

And holiness to our broken world.

+May these waters be for us a symbol and source

         of cleansing, of healing,

         And casting away our fears, demons, and failings. 

All:

Bless this water, Savior, and bless us.   

(The Celebrant sprinkles the people with the water; the people cross themselves.)

All: (sung, to Dundee "The People that in Darkness Dwelt")

When God began to make the earth,

It had no shape or form,

But God’s breath blew and gave it birth,

And calmed the waters’ storm.  

A dry and barren place arose;

No water then was seen.

But God made rise the mists and dews

Where only dust had been.

Rivers spring up in Eden then:

Four streams of water swell,

And trees and grass, and flowers and fruit

Watered from God’s own well. 

Jesus the Well-Spring of all Life,

now calls us, beckoning:

“Whoever thirsts, come to my side;

Drink from my living spring.”

Celebrant: Let us return to our starting point, chanting Psalm 104 together. 

Psalm 104   Benedic, anima mea

1       Bless the Lord, O my /soul; *

     O Lord my God, how excellent is your greatness!

     you are clothed with ma\jes/ty \and \splendor.

2       You wrap yourself with light as with a /cloak *

     and spread out the hea\vens /like \a \curtain.

3       You lay the beams of your chambers in the waters ab/ove; *

     you make the clouds your chariot;

     you ride on \the /wings \of the \wind.

4       You make the winds your /mes\sengers *

     and flames \of /fire \your \servants.

5       You have set the earth upon its foun/da\tions, *

     so that it never shall move \at /a\ny \time.

6       You covered it with the Deep as with a /man\tle; *

     the waters stood high\er /than \the \mountains.

7       At your rebuke they /fled; *

     at the voice of your thunder \they /hastened \a\way.

8       They went up into the hills and down to the valleys be/neath, *

     to the places you had \ap/pointed \for \them.

9       You set the limits that they should not /pass; *

     they shall not again /co\/ver \the \earth.

10    You send the springs into the /val\leys; *

     they flow \bet/ween \the \mountains.

11    All the beasts of the field drink their /fill \from them, *

     and the wild as\ses /quench \their \thirst.

12    Beside them the birds of the air make their /nests *

     and sing \a/mong \the \branches.

13    You water the mountains from your dwelling on /high; *

     the earth is fully satisfied by the fru\it /of \your works.

14    You make grass grow for flocks and /herds *

     and plants \to /serve \human\kind;

15    That they may bring forth food from the /earth, *

     and wine to glad\/den \our \hearts,

16    Oil to make a cheerful /coun\tenance, *

     and bread \to /strengthen \the \heart.

17    The trees of the Lord are full of /sap, *

     the cedars of Leban\on /which \he \planted,

18    In which the birds build their /nests, *

     and in whose tops the sto\rk /makes \his \dwelling. 

…

26    Yonder is the great and wide sea

with its living things too many to /num\ber, *

     creatures \both /small \and \great.

27    There move the ships,

and there is that Le/vi\athan, *

     which you \have /made \for the \sport of it.

28    All of them look to /you *

     to give them \their /food in \due \season.

29    You give it to them; they /ga\ther it; *

     you open your hand, and they \are /filled \with \good things.

…

31    You send forth your Spirit, and they are cre/at\ed; *

     and so you renew the fa\ce /of \the \earth.

…

37    Bless the Lord, O my /soul. *

     Hal\le/lu\u\jah!

Celebrant :  Let us go forth renewed and strengthened, remembering that this water is a blessing from God. 

All:  Thanks be to God.